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A. Dean and Jean M. Larsen
Yellowstone Park Collection

THIS BOOK IS THE GIJ;T OF

P. O. Box 209

Albuqu: e, N. ft

BOOK NO.

SHELF NO.

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in 2013

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THE CANON FROM GRAND VIEW

(PHOTOGRAPH BY 1'. j. HAYNKS, ST. PAUL.)

T)UKxm Holmes

COMPLETE IN TEN VOLUMES
• — VOLUME SIX —

The McClure Company

New York
mcmviii

THE YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

Yellowstone
National
Park

THE YELLOWSTONE region — that semi-mythical won-
derland of yesterday — has become a fascinating reality
to the traveler of to-day.

Late in the sixties the attention of the world was directed to
an unexplored region in the northwestern corner of Wyoming.

Strange rumors had been set afloat concerning the exist-
ence there among the Rockies, near the head-waters of a
river called the Yellowstone, of an almost inaccessible
plateau, where mysterious phenomena of a most startling
character were grouped as in an enchanted amphitheater.

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

Accordingly a number of exploring-parties were sent out
to confirm or to disprove the extravagant statements that had
long been rife. When the leaders of these expeditions,
on their return to civilization, submitted their reports, these
were at first received incredulously ; the world would not
believe that wonders such as they described existed elsewhere
than in the imagination of the daring travelers. But as
the witnesses increased in number doubt gave place to
belief, and the world awoke to the importance of their reve-
lations. It was soon proved that a new Wonderland had
been discovered ; and Congress, acting with commendable
promptitude, decreed that this territory where Nature had
assembled so many of her marvelous creations, this land
she had so long shrouded in mystery, should be set apart as a
perpetual playground for the Nation.

Ask any traveler who has visited the Yellowstone National
Park to describe it and he will reply, "It is indescribable. "

My task is therefore not an easy one, i since it is to
describe the indescri
Returning in August
from Greece
to the United
States, I was
dreading the
long mid-
sum mer
railway-
ride over
fully two
thirds of
our broad
continent.
"But," said
a friend, "why

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

MACKINAC

do you go by rail ? Why don 't you travel west by water ? ' '
The thought was new to me, and I at once resolved to
take advantage of that splendid water-way which leads from
the Empire State to the Gates of the Great Northwest.
Accordingly the
porter is given in-
structions to "put
us off at Buffalo, "
where we begin
our long voyage
around America s
vast inland seas.
Well worthy the
name of seas are
the waters trav-
ersed by the great
snow-white levia-
than, the ' 'North-
land." From

ON THE BRIDGE

YELLOWS! ONE NATIONAL PARK

New York State to Minnesota the traveler may speed in a
luxurious steamer, almost at railway pace.

Of the most delightful voyage through Erie, Huron, and
Superior I shall say little ; exhilarating as are the fresh lake
winds, and lovely as is the expanse of water over which we
speed, the winds and waters do not lend themselves to illus-
tration ; but among the few events that call for pictorial
record is the arrival at the gay summer port of Mackinac,
reached on the second morning. The summer colony turns
out in force to welcome us. Newspapers which are brought
on board tell us that throughout the length and breadth of
the land people are dying from the effects of the intense
August heat. With selfish pleasure we recall two days of

AT THE MACKINAC PIER

IN THE "SOO" LOCKS

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

fresh, cool breezes, and thank
^ our stars that we have wisely
chosen to travel west by
the water route.
On the pier we find a
happy crowd of peo-
ple whose only ob-
ject in life is to
keep cool and to
enjoy themselves.
Many of our fellow-
passengers leave
f the strip at Macki-
nac, but their places
are taken by others
who embark for an excur-
sion to the famous "Soo,"
the gateway to Lake Superior.
We reach the " Soo, " or, properly,
the city of Sault Sainte Marie, in the late afternoon. The
"Northland ' ' glides into a splen-
didly constructed lock ; the
lower gates are closed ;
suddenly the water

EN ROUTE

ARRIVAL AT CINNABAR

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

COACHES FOR MAMMOTH HOT SPRINGS

at the upper end begins to act as if a geyser were striving to
break forth, and slowly, steadily, lightly, as if instead of solid
steel she were made but of snowy paper, the ' ' Northland ' '
rises eighteen feet, then pauses a moment before steam-
ing northward upon the bosom of Superior to whose level she
has been lifted so quietly and without appreciable delay.

THE CINNABAR STATION

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

We now enjoy a night and a day on the clear, deep waters
of our greatest lake, and finally, three days after our depart-
ure from Buffalo, we reach Duluth. Thence by rail we
hasten to the " Twin Cities, " arriving just in time to join the
friends with whom we are to travel to the Yellowstone.

Westward we are then whirled over the line of the
Northern Pacific Railway, across Dakota and Montana,
through the Bad Lands, along the lower course of the Yel-
lowstone River to the little town of Cinnabar, on the border
of the park, beyond which Uncle Sam will not permit the
iron horse to pass. There are, however, other horses, and
excellent ones, too, awaiting us ; a four-in-hand coach has
been provided for our party, and in it we are soon installed
with bags and cameras, umbrellas, linen-dusters, and a
wealth of expectation. We give the signal for our depart-
ure ; a crack of the whip, a forward spring of the four
horses, and we receive the first impression of a visit to the
Yellowstone. It is this : In the foreground the backs of
four tugging horses, on either side a mass of scrubby pines,
before us a dusty road, and overhead a deep bright sky.

GARDINER CITY

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

FROM THE BOX-SEAT

Pictures like this
fill the eye for
many hours every
day, but even this
monotony itself is
delightful. We
drink in health
at every breath.
As we ride along
through this brac-
ing atmosphere,
we are in love
with life.

-^'-. ' "3»^"? *«v^^> ■ '*0* * - r»W» '

IN GARDINER CANON

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

Before we weary of the ride,

we have entered Gardiner

Canon, where road and

river wind between

high cliffs. This

may be called the

outer gateway to

IVAL AT THE HOTEL

the park, and is, in fact, the
place where the arriving trav-
eler receives his first hint of
the picturesqueness of the
great beyond. On rolls our
coach, until at last, sweeping
out upon a spacious plateau,

,;-

ON THE " FORMATION

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

A. MILLINERY MARVEL

we are whirled rapidly up to the landing-stage
of the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel.
This hotel is one of a series of five big
caravansaries recently established in
the park. Not only at the springs,
but at the two Geyser Basins, at
the lake, and at the canon the
visitor will find excellent hotel ac-
commodations, and he need fear
no hardships in this much-traveled
wilderness.

From the wide veranda we may see
the terraces of the Mammoth Hot
Springs, which are the first phenomena
presented to the tourists' eyes. Let us
at once respond to the attraction of yonder
magnet, and hasten up the snow-white flank of the formation.

WE OURSELVES

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

Formation of what, you ask ? And the answer is, 4 ' Forma-
tion of formation"; for the name "formation" is applied
not only to the wonderful terraced hill built up by action
of the springs, but also to the material or deposit of which
it is composed. " Formation is a word that in time comes
trippingly upon the tourist's tongue. "But what is forma-
tion? " we ask the voluble guide, who every day leads scores
of visitors across it, and from many points of vantage indi-
cates and describes the thousand and one phenomena that
here surprise, delight, and mystify. Formation is simply the
calcareous material deposited by the overflowing springs whose
waters hold in solution carbonate of lime.

ORANGE GEYSER

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

Two hundred acres of formation have been thus created.
From the valley floor rise terraces on terraces, some of them
concealed among the pines far up the mountain-side. Three
hours scarcely suffice for a mere visit to the wonders,

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Pau

MOUND TERRACE

grouped at many levels ; as many days would not afford
an opportunity for a detailed examination of them ; as many
weeks spent in contemplation of them would not enable the
spectator to describe them. They are indescribable.

We first make our way over an expanse of snow-white
formation. These colorless terraces may be said to be
covered with the powdered bones of dead and vanished
springs ; where the waters have ceased to flow, all beauty
and all color disappear. The first touch of color greets us at
the terrace called the " Narrow Gauge." Along its crest a
number of miniature geysers have raised their little cones.
Most of them are content merely to boil and simmer, but
their laziness is put to shame by one energetic little spout,

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

a tiny eruptive spring known as the Baby Geyser. It throws
a mighty liquid column, as fat as a pencil, to the astounding
height of seven inches. The waters of these springs flowing
unceasingly, down the slope, simultaneously build up and
tint the ridge. These waters are, however, only apprentices
in terrace-building and beginners in the art of terrace-tinting.
They are but neophytes, meekly practicing simple exercises
through which, in time, they will gain the skill required
to construct and color palaces like that of the Orange
Geyser, who is a master builder. On a foundation solid in
form and strong in color rests a superstructure of exquisite
daintiness, its overhanging balconies adorned with richly
tinted stalactites, each one of which is shedding liquid pearls.

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Pau

'ULPIT TERRACE

But, though we are in midsummer, the trees all round about,
as if they realized the hopelessness of an attempt to rival this
unearthly beauty, put forth no leaves to cover their gaunt
nakedness. Beautiful as is this specimen of the waters'

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

workmanship, it is comparatively insignificant ; this is but a
single isolated terrace — it is as nothing when we stand
below the veritable mountain where the same phenomena
are reproduced in countless numbers. But here the fact is
vividly impressed upon us that these springs, like mortal men,
are subject to the awful law of death — the streams of life are
ever changing in their course. To-day they are flowing here
from terrace to terrace, bowl to bowl, clothing them all
with brilliancy and warmth, creating things of beauty to
delight a generation. They will in time forsake this slope,
and then it, like the one down which the warm flood coursed
in earlier days, will gradually grow white with age, dry with
neglect, and finally, enfeebled by the alternating shocks of
heat and cold, wind and rain, its graceful, snow-white, death-
like forms will crumble to powder to be trampled underfoot
by the travelers of future years. But meantime other
beautiful structures will have been created. As we turn our

Photograph by P. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

CLEOPATRA TERRACE

':.*«

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

dazzled eyes upon these marvelous productions of an unseen
worker, we realize that perennial beauty is destined to reign
here, as in the human race, although an impartial providence
has decreed that individual loveliness shall be ephemeral.

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

FORT YELLOWSTONE

These things attract and charm us just as flowers do —
because of their freshness and their perishability. Were this
Pulpit of the Gods hewn in solid rock, were its colors applied
in some indestructible lacquer, were we assured that in a
thousand years it would not change or fade — why, half
its charm would vanish. Just as dewdrops on flowers add to
their freshness and their charm, so are these forms made
lovelier by the waters which clothe with life every pillar of
the colonnade, every curve of the whole structure. A thin
veil of water, hot and clear, courses in quick pulsations over
the beaded rims and down these tinted pillars until the
terrace seems to live. The glorious effect produced by these
masterpieces of mineral painting when they reflect the sun-
shine through a waving, rippling screen of crystal water
is impossible of pictured reproduction.

And yet this phenomenon of terrace-building may be
easily explained. Nature has furnished here a series of

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

object-lessons, which, viewed in the light of simple scientific
facts, make all the mystery clear. At our feet is a miniature
formation where all the details of the grander terraces are
minutely reproduced. We see a tiny source of mineral
water, a system of little bowls at various levels ; here already
the construction of the terrace has begun. The waters, as
we know, contain calcareous matter ; as the water cools and
evaporates, this substance is deposited ; cooling and evapora-
tion naturally take place more rapidly at the outer rims of
the bowrls because by the time the water reaches them its
temperature has decreased ; therefore the deposits at the
edge are more quickly made, and thus the rims are gradually

THE BEGINNING OF A TERRACE

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

built up until the waters are forced to seek another place of
overflow, and recommence their work elsewhere. It has
been estimated that to increase the rim an inch in height
the water labors for a space of sixty days. The tinting is
caused by mineral substances brought with the waters from
the inner earth. But why seek to explain this seeming
miracle ? It is enough that after years of toil the silent
forces will produce a thing of such enchanting beauty that
man's desire to investigate is lost in ecstasy of admiration.
It is enough for us that these yellows, browns, and purples
are harmoniously blended ; that the still warm pools are
bluer than the fairest sky or deepest sea ; that every line and
curve is to the eye as soft as a caress — it is enough that we
have felt the thrill born of the contemplation of the beau-
tiful. What care we for calcareous deposits, evaporations,
sulphur stains, and iron oxides? Away with them.

Even Minerva, Goddess of Wisdom, whose name one ter-
race bears, here bids us admire rather than seek to under-
stand. Nor is Minerva the only mythical deity honored here ;
the name of Jupiter, the Father of the Gods, now dignifies

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

MINERVA TERRACE

<i§

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

fig

the grandest of the higher terraces. Born in
£ a pool which measures a full hundred feet

across, the waters of Jove s spring have

formed a terrace five acres in extent.

Surely the Greeks, had they possessed so

wonderful a piece of earth, would not

U V'teiJM*** °^ have exiled all their deities to

the peaks of barren moun-
tains. This region would
have been the Thunderer's
abode and that of his in-
numerable kindred. Now
I could lead you on for
hours from pool to spring,
from terrace to terrace.
I could compare the ter-
races with their broken
rainbows, to shattered spec-
tra, but all my words would
not suggest the half of what one
glance reveals. I cannot but say, "Go thou and see."
But do not look for beauty in the full glare of noon. The
visitor who trudges over the terraces blinded by the crude
light of midday sees
whites and dingy
softer light of even
ing, or the glow
of sunrise best re-
veals the beauties
of the terraces.
We pause to
look at a huge cone
which is called ' ' Lib
erty Cap " ; it is

ANGEL TERRACE

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul
LIBERTY CAP

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

creation of an ancient spring, — a spring that may be said to
have committed suicide by building up its crater to such a
height that the waters, unable at last to reach the top and
overflow, forsook this stately pile and went to labor at an
architectural structure less ambitious.

Next morning, and, in fact, every morning during the
season, an animated scene is witnessed at the landing-stage
of the hotel. Five or six coaches dash up from the huge
stables, and eager passengers take their places for the long
drive of over one hundred and sixty miles around the park.

We cannot but admire the many excellences of the trans-
portation outfit ; splendid Concord coaches, well-cared-for,
solid and comfortable ; horses, well-groomed and strong ;
drivers, as skilful as the western driver needs must be. Only
one thing is there to criticize, — the utter absence of "local

THE START FROM MAMMOTH

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

A CONCORD COACH

color ' ' in the rai-
ment of those
drivers. Why
has not the com-
pany seized this
splendid oppor-
tunity to preserve
a costume that
once was typical
of western life ?
A corps of driv-
ers, not exactly
uniformed, but
dressed to fit their parts, in buckskins, broad-brimmed hats,
red shirts, and pistol-belts would be an innovation welcomed
by every traveler, for travelers demand the picturesque.

But as our skilful whip remarked, " Clothes don't make
the driver. ' ' Of this we are convinced long before the coach
enters the picturesque defile that forms the inner doorway to
the National Park. It is the famous portal known as " Golden
Gate, " and the title Golden Gate is fitting in a double sense ;
the rocks are golden, while upon this last mile of road

traversed much gold has been
expended — its construction
having cost the government
no less than $14,000. But
the road, alas, is badly engi-
neered, its grades are steep
enough to test the endurance
of the strongest horses, its
surface is buried in a small
Sahara of shifting sand and
dust impalpable as air. For-
tunately a series of showers

OUR DRIVER

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

preceded us and laid the dust along our way. As our coach
toils slowly upward, as the murmur of the river grows fainter,
as the cliff-like canon-walls draw nearer and nearer to one
another, we forget the steep grades of the heavy road in
admiration of scenes through which it leads us. We are
but four miles from the springs, and yet we are a thousand
feet nearer the skies, two thousand feet above the railway
terminus, and seven thousand feet above the sea.

And presently the golden portals slowly open, revealing
to us a broad valley circled by mountains and dominated by
a cloudland, all of silver. Far off we see the Gallatins, a
range whose average altitude above the sea is over 10,000
feet, but the great height of the park plateau reduces moun-
tains to mere hills,

GOLDEN GATE ROAD

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

surround this plateau led the discoverers to entitle it Electric
Peak. It is a sort of giant storage-battery ; explorers attempt-
ing to attain the summit have been baffled by electric forces,
which caused their fingers to prick and tingle and their hair
to stand on end. They had, indeed, a shocking experience.
But leaving behind this huge Leyden jar, we approach, an
hour later, a unique feature, a mountain made of glass.
That black glistening mass is vitreous matter, obsidian or
volcanic glass, formed by the rapid cooling of a great wave
of lava. Harder than stone, obsidian has long been a favor-
ite material for the weapons of
primitive races, and yonder cliff
has furnished the aborigines with
countless arrowheads.

It has also furnished oppor-
tunities for some of the most
magnificent lies ever invented by
a prevaricating pioneer. One of

iOLDEN GATE

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

the early explorers became so ex-
asperated by the ridicule with
which his stories were re-
ceived that he decided
to give his hearers
good and sufficient
cause for incredu-
lity. While hunt-
ing in this valley, so
runs his yarn, he
came upon a splen-
did elk, and being a

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul
3

OBSIDIAN CLIFF

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

good shot he fired
at long range.
The elk did not
even start; a sec-
ond shot at clos-
er range met with
the same result.
Therefore he ran
toward the ani-
mal at full speed,
until his career
was suddenly ar-
rested by crash-
ing into a vertical
wall of glass, so
perfectly trans-
parent that he
had not noticed
it. The elk was
grazing peace-
fully upon the
farther side. But
not discouraged, our hunter made his way around the mountain
only to find that the huge mass of glass had acted like a tele-
scope, and had made him think that he was within a few rods
of the game that in reality was twenty miles away.

As we drive on, we skirt a number of pretty lakes and
finally, at noon, just as the thought of luncheon obtrudes
itself, there flash into view the snow-white tents of
"Larry's " famous lunch establishment. What traveler does
not remember Larry Matthews and his canvas palace ? Who
can forget his cheery welcome when, lifting the ladies from
the coach, he cries: "Glad to see you! Walk right up-
stairs,— or would ye rather take the elevator? " And who

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

THE NEW ROAD

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

■4- i

— — %*wam

LARRY'S RESTAURANT

can forget the honest Irish face of landlord Larry Matthews ?
His ready wit is remarkable. Every day he is expected

A LEaP FOR LUNCHEON

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

to be funny from 1 1 to 2 o'clock,

ring which hours he must

not only delight the inbound

tourists, but carefully

avoid repeating himself

in the presence of those
outward bound who lunch
here for the second time
He s hard to catch, however,
for his bright sal-
lies come just as
freely as do his
smiles. As an
example of Lar-
ry's quickness,
there was in our
party an Italian
gentleman we
laughingly called
the Count. "Ah,
Count," uttered
Larry, "glad to
meet you ; but

LARRY MATTHEWS

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

you know a dollar s all that 's
a count in this cafe."

We never know what
we are eating at Larry s
busy table d ' note
He never gives us
time to think about
the food. He is
able to make the
people laugh so
much and eat so
little that the com-
pany should meet all
his demands for an in-
crease of salary. A lady
asks for a glass of milk.
" Drive in the cow ! ' shouts
Larry. "A drink of water, if you please,

LARRY'S JOKE-FACTORY

murmurs a pretty

IN LARB.VS "CAFAY'

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

CALAMITY IN SCOUTING COSTUME

miss ; and Larry with deep
solicitude inquires, "Wad
ye like it hot or cold ? ' '
And then if one looks wist-
fully upon the butter or the
sauce, he quickly reassures
you with the declaration
that ' ' there 's no extra
charge for flies and dust,
— always on the bill-of-
fare, — a standing order."
This joke, like the dish re-
ferred to, is "a standing
order ' ' ; but although we
lunched four times at Lar-
ry's, we seldom caught him
putting old cylinders in his

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

phonograph of fun. The eruptions of laughter that occur
every day with greatest regularity at Larry's, certainly cause
as much genuine amusement as any of the spoutings of the
neighboring geysers. It was at Larry's that we met the
original, Simon-pure " Calamity- Jane, " who twenty years ago
was famous as a woman-scout, and served our generals faith-
fully in many of the Indian wars. As we ride away from
Larry's and the laughter dies away, we begin to hear a

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

THE BLACK GROWLER

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

roaring as of rushing steam, and presently we are halted
by the sentinel of the geyser regions, who holds aloft a pillar
of hissing vapor to warn us that we are approaching danger-

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Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul ^

GIBBON CANON

ous ground. We could not, if we would, ignore the Black
Growler, whose gruff songs of greeting and farewell will
haunt the tourist's memory for years. Day and night,
unceasingly, the growler utters his deep, sullen roar. But
why called Black Growler no one seems to know. Perhaps
some blind man may have named it ; for just as to the blind a
blare of trumpets suggests a brilliant red, so to us, if we shut
our eyes, the roar of this great safety-valve sounds black.

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

As the other features of the Norris Basin are reproduced
on a much grander scale elsewhere, we do not linger, but
drive on amid the beauties of the Gibbon Canon, where
forest and stream combine to charm the eye. And do you
realize the importance of the trees and waters of the Yellow-
stone ? The park is a forest-covered region, completely iso-
lated in the midst of a vast tract of treeless deserts. In it
there are no fewer than thirty-six lakes, and twenty-five
waterfalls, while its streams and brooks are numberless. It
is a well known fact that even at the season of low water this
generous region sends forth a refreshing flood into the sur-
rounding parched states. No one can estimate the loss that
would ensue should this supply be cut off or diminished.
Yet the possibility exists. Destroy, or permit the destruc-
tion of, these glorious forests that cover almost nine tenths of
the park, and the land will become a barren waste. These
miles and miles and miles of piny
growth insure the lif<
the lakes and streams
preventing a too
rapid melting
the snow and 1
luring the rain
from the va-
pory clouds.
The gov-
ernment has
most wisely
adopted suf-
ficient meas-
ures for the
preservation
of the park '
green mant

CYCLISTS

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

IN DIVIDED SKIRTS

but eternal vigilance is the price
of the security ; our Federal
troops who play the part
of fireman within the Na-
tional Park are often
called upon to fight
fierce battles with the
forest flames.

En route once more,
a cloud of happy cy-
clists flits by our coach.
Here my cycling friends
will ask, "Would you ad-
vise a wheel-tour through the
park?" Yes, and no. No,
for the rider who expects to roll
through the Rockies as easily as over city boulevards and
parkways. Yes, for the man who thinks fatigue essential to
enjoyment, who does not object to roads four inches deep in
sand, who can ride up heavy grades, and whose temper is
as well trained as his legs. To those who would ride around
the park astride a saddle, I commend the plan adopted by
these two young ladies, for
if the girl in bloomers
is not seen scorch-
ing through the
wilderness
a-wheel, she
is not ab-
sent alto-
gether— she
has merely a
change of mount,
These sensible eques-

A HUMBLE FOUR-IN-HAND

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

triennes are but types of scores who, like them, tour the park
in divided skirts. They are, as a rule, members of some
itinerant camping-party, their mothers, fathers, aunts and
uncles, brothers and sisters, preceding or following them in
great white prairie-
schooners, of which

large fleets are tacking
to and fro across the

park in all directions. These people do not patronize the
great hotels. They carry tents, supplies, cooking-stoves,
and cameras. They come from every state. We talked
with people from California, Texas, Michigan, and Maine.
In one week during our visit two hundred and seventy-five
campers registered at the military post at the entrance of the
park ; every person entering the park must register and
leave his firearms in charge of the guards, unless he prefers
to have the lock of every weapon sealed, the seal not to be
broken until he passes out again. If the soldiers who here

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

CAMPERS

serve as park po-
licemen find a
camper with an
unsealed gun,
they are at liberty
to suppose that
the sight of some
huge elk or grace-
ful deer has been
too much for him.
The broken seal
may cost him a
fine of one thou-
sand dollars, or a
long sojourn in
the stone house
at Fort Yellow-

stone.

The following queries recently appeared in a daily
paper : " How large is the park ? " "Is it surrounded by a
fence ? " ' ' What is the fence made of ? " My answers are :
"The park is sixty-five miles long
by fifty-five miles wide. "
is surrounded by a fence.
"The fence is made of
flesh and blood, endur
ance and courage, and
covered with the uni-
form of the United
States cavalry. "

As we ride on,
we meet other trav-
elers more economical,
who, dispensing with
tents, wagons, and stoves

don't take my picture!

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

A CAMP FOLLOWER

reduce their baggage to such a point that one or two pack
horses suffice for transport. We saw one lonely camper with
his ' ' baggage cars ' ' coupled by neck
and tail in a simple but ingenious way.
The complete outfit of another enthu-
JtrJ (M < m siastic traveler reveals no suggestion of
' J '■ " luxury. It consists of a canvas sleep-

ing-bag, and a few boxes of supplies.
He tells us that it has long been his
ambition to see the great west,
and that the hard times of
1896 convinced him that
it would be cheaper to travel
and enjoy himself than to remain
in business ; accordingly, with two horses and this slender
outfit, he set out from Cheyenne with the intention of visiting
every point of interest between the Missouri and the Pacific
Coast. He travels leisurely, and although he confesses to

^P^v i "" a & mm J Mh

T ksM

A TRAIN OF BAGGAGE-CARS

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

*sfer-

ON THE MARCH

occasional spells of loneli-
ness, he says that he thor-
oughly enjoys his absolute
freedom and would change
places with no man. His
journey costs him on an av-
erage just fifty cents a day.
But while we have been
discussing passing travelers,
our coach has brought us
to the Upper Geyser Basin,
where the geysers like gi-
gantic censers are wafting
their vapory incense skyward. A geyser basin is an area
where the crust of this great volcanic region is thinnest. In
venturing out upon its surface, which in places gives back

hollow echoes to our tread, we feel
we are very near indeed to
e infernal fires. Everything
about us tends to excite
both timidity and awe.
" Unearthly ' ' is the best
word to describe the
scene, and as we pick
our way amid steam-
ing pools, as columns
of steam and boiling
water suddenly rear
themselves beside, in
front of, or behind us,
I as gusts of heated air
fan our faces and the
sound of hissing vapors
fills the ear, we may be

AN ECONOMICAL OUTFIT

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

THE FOUNTAIN HOTEL

pardoned if a sense of the supernatural overpowers us,
if we falter for a moment until familiarity with these

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

THE FOUNTAIN GEYSER

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

phenomena shall give us confidence. The theory of geyser
action advanced by Bunsen and accepted by the scientific
world is not difficult to comprehend. A geyser crater is
usually a deep, well-like fissure filled with water ; it is of
unknown depth ; near the bottom there are volcanic fires or
heated rocks that act upon the lower sections of the watery

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

CRATER OF OLD FAITHFUL

column enclosed in this deep narrow well. We know that
water under heavy pressure must be raised to a higher tem-
perature before it will boil than water that is merely being
heated in an open caldron. Therefore the lower sections
of the water column, before reaching their boiling-point, are
heated to such a degree that were the pressure not so great,
ebullition would certainly result. Imagine, then, this state

-. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

AN HOURLY SPECTACLE

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK 53

of things : water which is hot enough to boil under normal
conditions, but prevented from boiling and from producing
steam by the immense pressure to which it is subjected.
Then imagine that a little of the water nearest to the subter-

Photugraph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

WATER AND STEAM

ranean fires becomes hot enough to boil in spite of the pres-
sure. A little steam is thus produced. This rises, disturbs,
and slightly lifts the superincumbent column of cooler water.
The pressure, which alone prevents ebullition, is thus relieved.

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

What then occurs ? The vast mass of superheated water
deep in the well suddenly finds itself not, as before, below its
boiling-point, but far above it, and without waiting to boil it
instantaneously flashes into steam, and the cooler water resting
above it is shot forth as from a cannon's mouth to awe man-
kind, to tell him of the terrible unalterability of Nature's laws.
Thus we may understand the great irregularity of the
eruptions. So many factors are to be considered — the
depth, diameter^ and direction of the geyser tube, the prox-
imity of the heated rocks, and the workings of the water sys-
tem which refills the tube, whether by infiltration of rain or
river water, or by the flow of subterranean springs. The
marvel is, not that the moment of these glorious displays
cannot be accurately named, but that it can be even approxi-
mately surmised. One geyser, only, makes any pretense to
punctuality. It has been named on this account " Old Faith-
ful. " Regularly every hour it performs its task of entertain-
ing tourists. It merits the gratitude of those who have not
time to wait upon the whims of its eccentric neighbors.

While waiting with an expectant group of visitors, one
overhears many amusing remarks. Some tourists, led astray
by one of Larry's jokes, ask at what time they are going to

grease the geyser. ' ' And this ex-
ion, "greasing the gey-
refers to a former
:ustom of putting soap
into the crater to make
the geyser spout be-
fore its time. This
practice of soaping
is now prohibited,
for it eventually de-
stroys the action of
the geyser. The fact

WAITING FOR AN ERUPTION

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St.1. Paul

OLD FAITHFUL

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

that soaping would advance the hour of eruption was dis-
covered quite by accident. A Chinese laundryman who had
found the hot pools a great convenience in his business, one
day mixed his suds in the wrong hole. His pigtailed head
escaped by miracle as a charge of shirts, collars, and cuffs
was fired skyward with tremendous force.

As the moment of the eruption approaches, an impatient
visitor, who has been watching the steam ascending from the
crater, demands, "Well, when does she bust?" but on ob-
serving the tightness of the clothes of the corpulent ques-
tioner, it seems to be a close question as to which will
''bust " the sooner — the geyser or the gentleman. At last,
however, some one cries, "Look out! — there she goes!"
There is a backward rush of dazed spectators, and upward in
a mass of glittering glory the contents of the tube is lifted,

forming a dazzling pillar of rising

and falling water, surrounded

f by its flowing draperies of

steam. This is repeated
every hour with but the
slightest variations.
H Here is a water-clock
older than that of the
Greeks, and it marks
time as perfectly to-
day as when the divine
clockmaker first put to-
gether its more than mys-
terious mechanism. That
monument of water is one
hundred and fifty feet in
height. It stands there
apparently undiminished
for seven minutes, and

WELL, WHEN DOES SHE BUST?

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

in these seven
minutes no less
than one and a
half million gal-
lons of boiling
water are shot
forth. In one
day Old Faith-
ful furnishes
more water than
would be used
for the needs of
a city of three
hundred thou-
sand people.
Nor is this all,
for this is but
one of the hun-
dred geysers
which, day and

night, summer
and winter, are
rising thus like
ghostly senti-
nels to see that
all is well in Na-
ture's Wonder-
land, and then
returning again
to oft- broken
slumbers.

It seems as if
the other gey-
sers, conscience
stricken by the
punctuality and
frequency of
Old Faithful's
exhibitions, in-
dividually were

Photograph by F. Jay Hayneb, be. raul
THE GIANT

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

to make up for their long periods of laziness by giving
superior displays when their turns arrive.

Excelsior, the grandest of them all, spends seven or more
years in preparation, and then begins a series of imposing
outbursts. A mighty cliff of living water rises from a boiling
lake, and as often as the waters fall, they are hurled again
into the air. Though its form is ever changing, the cliff of
water stands there in seeming permanency, until at last the
unseen forces weaken and the glorious vision vanishes. The
level of the river that flows near the crater of Excelsior is
raised several inches after every outburst of this great geyser,
which in one eruption ejects more water than could be
thrown up by the combined forces of all the other geysers in
the basin. Unfortunately all is quiet here on the day of our
visit. The last preceding display occurred in 1892. Beauti-
ful as are the manifestations of the forces of nature when

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

CRATER OF EXCELSIOR

60 YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

acting upon the clear, deep pools, they become ridiculous or
fantastic when mud is substituted in the craters for the
crystal waters. Here in the mammoth " Paint Pots " nature
plays a joke upon us. In one caldron is a mass of mortar-

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

EXCELSIOR IN ERUPTION

like mud, which during unknown ages has been in a state of
ebullition. Up through the slimy matter rise tiny puffs of
steam, each one ejecting, with a nauseating flop, a tiny spout
of what looks like vanilla or strawberry ice-cream, half
melted. The shapes which are momentarily assumed by
these expectorations of the clayey slush are grotesque to
such a point that lookers-on are frequently convulsed with
laughter. The word "grotesque " describes the Paint Pots ;

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

Pnotograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

THE UPPER GEYSER BASIN

wonderful, marvelous, and grand are the adjectives we use
in speaking of the geysers ; but when we would tell of the
Morning Glory Spring, a still, warm pool of deepest blue, the
word "beautiful ' ' is the only one that rises to our lips. Those
who have never looked into its depths will smile incredu-
lously, and being shown a colored photograph of the spring,

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

MORNING GLORY SPRING

say that photographer and artist have told a most transparent
lie. But eyes that have been treated to this bath of beauty

THE GROTTO GEYSER

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

will tell you that no photographic
lens can there be substituted for
the human eye, that not by
any painter's pigment may
the exquisite tones of blue
be reproduced. The
lining of the crater is
of snow-white deposit,
the water itself is col-
orless, and yet the il-
lusion of blueness is
intense and persists
even on gray cloudy days.
It seems as if it had been
vouchsafed to us to peer into
the deep, placid soul of nature.
Reluctantly turning from the con-
templation of these cerulean depths,

LOOKING INTO
THE MUD VOLCANO

we find ourselves again
upon the inter-
minable sandy
road cut through
the piny forest.
No correct im-
pression of the
Yellowstone and
its wonders can
be imparted un-
less scenes are
linked together by
sections of that
long, long road on
which the traveler
must spend seven
hours every day.

THE BUTTERFLY

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

I mean the traveler who insists on rushing through the park
on schedule time, in five and a half days, not because he is
compelled to, but because he has been told that it is possible.

We cannot praise the undue expedition with which the
average traveler rushes through our Wonderland. Few, if
any, take time for more than a mere glance at the lakelet
that lies in a little hollow on the crest of the continental
divide. And yet that lily-dotted pond merits our thoughtful
consideration and will richly repay the visitor.

We are in the Rocky Mountains near the apex of our
continent. That placid sheet of water is therefore wooed by
two mighty suitors, — the Atlantic and the Pacific,— and,
undecided but impartial, she bestows her favors on them both

A LAKELET THAT FEEDS TWO OCEANS

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

Photograi

>y F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

SHOSHONE LAKE AND THE TETONS

alike ; and when she weeps for love of both, one tear may
trickle down the cheek kissed by her western lover, the
Pacific, while another salutes the outstretched arms of the
Atlantic, in the Gulf of Mexico. From this point onward,
the dash down-grade is thrillingly exciting ; our four horses
swing us at a spanking pace around curves and past a score
of splendid points of view. Far away to the south, outside
the limits of the park, we see the three great Teton Peaks
rising as if in protest at their exclusion from our Wonder-
land— as if by an unwearying appeal they would compel the
government to reconsider that unsatisfactory southern bound-
ary line, to move it a few miles farther south, and thus add to

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

the park a feature that it lacks, a range of alpine grandeur.
Nearer, and well within the limits of the park, we see the
beautiful Shoshone Lake, while all around us rise the wooded
slopes of the apparently insignificant range that forms the
backbone of our land — the Continental Divide.

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

LAKE YELLOWSTONE AND MOUNT SHERIDAN

Still following the down-trending road, we reach some
hours later the shores of that great silent reservoir of icy
waters, Lake Yellowstone. With a shore-line more than
one hundred miles in length, with an altitude of almost a
mile and a half above the sea, there are but few lakes in the
world that surpass Lake Yellowstone in area and elevation.
One or two lakes in the Andes of Peru, one or two in the
scarce explored regions of Tibet are its only rivals.

Around Lake Yellowstone rise mountains from ten to
fifteen thousand feet in height, and yet these mountains,
because we are already almost eight thousand feet above sea-
level, do not seem to us more lofty than a range of hills.
The mere knowledge that a mountain is of immense altitude
does not impress one half so much as the apparent height

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

of lesser peaks. Thus Mount
Washington, in New Hamp-
shire, with its mere six thou-
sand feet of visible elevation,
seems grander to us than
these giants which have al-
most thrice its height. Yet
bring hither our favorite New
England peak, bury it be-
neath the lake, its base at
the sea-level, and then where
would the dizzily perched
Summit House find itself ?
It would be occupied by trout
and other finny guests, while

the instruments of the Mount Washington observatory would

be rusting more than a thousand feet below these waters.

Nay, the summit would not rise high enough even to pierce

the muddy bottom of Lake Yellowstone.

LAKE YELLOWSTONE

THE HOTEL AT THE LAK

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

Were this courageous little steamer
on which we cross the lake to
prolong its excursion on
this same plane of alti-
tude eastward from the
Rockies, it would sail
across our continent
almost eight thou-
sand feet above our
cities, accompanied

by fleets of clouds ; it
would cross the broad
Atlantic, meeting no
obstacle until its prow
grated upon the icy
slopes of the Alps or
Pyrenees. We may
not take this flying
trip, however, but
shall steam on toward
a little island where
there are confined a
few tame buffalo ; the
only buffalo we may
hope to see, for in
the summer the wild
herd inhabiting the

CAPTIVK Bl'FFALO

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

park seldom presents itself to tourists' eyes. But the days
of the wild bison are numbered, although it is protected
by the strong arm of the law ; there remains to-day only a
meager band, yearly decimated, and doomed to ultimate ex-
tinction. The traveler who will brave the rude winter of
these altitudes may be rewarded by a sight of four or five

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Pau

wild buffalo in full retreat across the snow-covered open
stretches. But a visit to the park in winter is no simple
matter ; snow then lies from ten to twenty feet upon the
level and is piled mountain-high in the ravines. Yet a
winter tour is possible, though at the cost of sufferings and
perils which few men will care to pay. The cold at that
period is frightful. In the words of an intrepid photographer

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

who has made several midwinter tours in the Yellowstone,
"When it was only ten degrees below, we called it a warm
day. We had been accustomed, during our two-hundred-
mile snow-shoe journey, to a temperature of fifty-two degrees
below zero." And there are men who every winter hiber-
nate in the big empty hotels of the park, for reasons
that insurance companies best understand. The manager

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Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

FIREHOLE CASCADES

of the hotel at the Grand Canon, with his wife, spends
nine long, lonely months in the snow-bound caravansary,
there being miles of snowy nothingness between him and the
world. But he is not a prisoner ; he often glides out of a
third-story window on his Norwegian skees, and then as lightly
as a sea-gull he skims down and away across white snow-
fields, which sustain him some twenty feet above the level of
old earth. He has looked upon scenes whose fascinations he
avers are ample recompense for what to us would seem

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

almost a living death. Think of it : two people spending
here a winter of two hundred and fifty days, each day so
like another that the march of time is imperceptible.

But ere these thoughts shall chill us to the bone, let us
return to summer sunshine by the lake. The view of the lake
reminds us that I have not mentioned what is to some the
chief charm of these waters, — the fact that they are literally
swarming with fish, so eager to be caught that skill is not
required. Naturally, Yellowstone fish-stories are like other
things in this region, — the most remarkable of their kind, for
the reason that unlike other fish-stories, they are absolutely
true. No exaggeration is needed to add color to them. Let
me prove it to you. In the picture you may see my friend,
after casting his line into the icy waters of the lake, dipping
the finny prey into the depths of a spring of boiling water.
What a convenience for the hungry traveler! — his Friday
breakfast kept cool and fresh in a vast natural refrigerator
until it pleases him to fish it out, flop it into a natural kettle

•; -^V**^-

COOKING A CATCH

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

and, without budging, cook it on the spot. You are incredu-
lous, because, alas ! truth and the finny tribe have no affinity.
And I will confess that, although containing many ingredi-
ents of truth, my tale is not a wholly honest one, for

MOUNT WASHBURNE

although this culinary feat is performed by tourists every day,
in our case the fish could not be made to bite, the steamer
was whistling her last warning, and — dare I confess it? —
impelled by photographic necessities, I hastened to the
kitchen in the luncheon-tent
near by, purchased a miser-
able trout, and hung its stiff,
cold corpse upon our dan-
gling, disappointed hook.

After this confession, as a
proof of my regard for truth,
can you refuse to believe my
other stories ? Here is one to
test your confidence : There
is in the park a river in which
geyser waters overflow. As

ON MOUNT WASHBURNE

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

the hot water rests upon the surface, the cold, trout-swarm-
ing river is, as it were, covered with a stratum of boiling water,
and fish caught in its depths may be cooked on the way out !
Leaving the lake, let us follow the swift-flowing but placid
river to the culmination of our journey, the Grand Canon of
the Yellowstone. Strange, — is it not? — that the approach
should promise so little : a level valley, a ribbon of green
water, and in the distance the shadowy forms of Mounts
Washburne and Dunraven.

But before we turn to the consideration of the canon, let
me recall briefly an excursion over Mount Washburne to
Yancey's ranch — a horseback trip that may be made as an
alternative to the return to Mammoth Hot Springs by the
^5T" coach-road. The ascent of Mount

^} Washburne is not difficult, and it

fmL calls for neither great endurance nor

m ^^^ daring horsemanship. The trail, al-

^■^ though in places indistinct, is easy

^[ and secure as mountain-trails go.

AT THE SUMMIT

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

The view from the
summit is not espe-
cially striking to one
accustomed to moun-
tain scenery of re-
gions more broken
and picturesque, but
the exhilaration of
the ride and the re-
sulting appetites are
ample compensations
for the effort. A
visit to " Uncle John
Yancey's" ranch is
an experience that
will be remembered
but which will not be repeated.

A comic writer might find food for
profitable study in the peculiarities of Uncle

John, but the ordinary traveler will

find neither palatable food nor

decent accommodations while

at the old man 's ' ' Hotel.

The tenderfoot should not

remark the unwashed

condition of the two

historic glasses into

which the proprietor

pours the welcoming

libation of ''Kentucky

tea, " for it is Yancey's

boast that his whisky

glasses have never been

polluted by the contact of

YANCEY
HIMSELF

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

so alien a liquid as water. That water is not held in good
repute at Yancey's is evidenced by the location and condition
of the " bathing establishment" maintained for the incon-
venience of guests who are so perverted as to require more
than the pail that serves the needs of the habitues of the
primitive caravansary. On the whole it is wiser to leave
the park with the impressions of its glories undimmed by
memories of Yancey's Ranch.

The approach to the canon from the lake is commonplace
indeed, yet between us and those unimpressive mountains
toward which we drive, lies one of the grandest sights on
which man has ever looked — one of the great things of the
world. The mountains are largely forest-clad ; for miles on
both sides of the canon there stretch away great areas of
timber that soften every outline of the landscape, give it a
regularity, a velvety smoothness, that ill prepare the traveler

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

ONE OF YANCEY'S
BOARDERS

for the chaotic awfulness of that on which
he is about to look. It is as if nature
had striven by every means to en-
hance the sublime surprise that she
reserves behind this curtain of deep
green. Yet, lest we should be
stricken blind and dumb by the
full, instantaneous revelation of
the glory of the lower canon, let
us look first upon the milder
beauty of the upper gorge. Into
f it leaps the river, in a plunge of a
hundred feet or more, then on it
rushes between gray-wooded walls,
its waters greener than the pines, or,
being churned to foam, whiter than snow.
Follow me down to the river-bank ; no danger need be

THE BATHING ESTABLISHMENT

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

THE UPPER YELLOWSTONE

feared ; beauty, not danger, lurks below. Here for a mo-
ment the waters seem to curb their eagerness, as if the drops
which have journeyed long in company would bid farewell to

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

THE GRAND CANON HOTEL

one another, before, in the confusion of their final leap, they
are forever separated or dispersed in spray. Dare we now in
imagination follow them ? Nay, we are almost tempted to
follow bodily, so great is the fascination of the flood, as with

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

A PATH TO THE BRINK

IN THE UPPER GORGE

THE UPPER CANON OF THE YELLOWSTONE

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

a calm deliberate swiftness, like that of a mighty eagle
swooping upon its prey, it glides as lightly as the wind over
the brink, and plunges toward the center of the world. In-
stantly, as if by powerful enchantment, it is transformed
from a greenish serpent into a bridal veil of purest white.
We are assisting at the nuptials of awfulness and beauty.
But to appreciate the full solemnity of it all, one must hear
the ceaseless roar, like the anthem of the eternal choir, and
feel the cool spray-like aspersions, as of the holy water.
But having seen beauty fall into the arms of awfulness,
we will look upon the land in which they are to dwell to-
gether while the brief honeymoon endures. Then close your
eyes, turn them toward the east, open them, and suppress a

BRINK OF THE LOWER FALLS

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

gasp of admiration if you can ! Our first impression is one
of overwhelming surprise. The canon is so much vaster
than we thought. Its coloring is more vivid than we ever
dreamed it could be. It seems like a mine of precious
stones, uncovered to amaze and dazzle the sun itself. The
river has already cut down through this mine of color more
than a thousand feet, yet the vein seems to be inexhaustible.
The rocky mass of the plateau is decomposed to unknown
depths ; the chemic products resulting from that decomposi-
tion produce the color ; the rains, the flow of water from
subterranean springs, and the winds that sweep through the
canon have helped to blend the tints, until the walls appear
as if draped with the tatters of some gorgeous rainbow.

THE CANON OF THE YELLOWSTONE FROM THE FALLS

MAJESTY!

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

But there are
other points of
vantage from
which even more
stupendous vistas
are revealed. To
reach them we
must turn back
and climb up in
and through the
woods that clothe
the slope of the
upper canon.
The quick tran-
sitions from light
to shade, from
free space to the
seclusion of the
forest, are de-
lightful. In the
soft gloom of the
wood we may re-
pose our eyes wearied with too much glory. Overcome by
the unseizable vastness of the canon, we turn with pleasure
to the contemplation of little things which elsewhere would
have no interest for us. For hours in these woods I have
watched the chipmunks, busy, saucy little animals, which
being unmolested here are so tame that when I sat quite
motionless they would approach, sit on the other end of the
same log, and try to enter into conversation.

One day, however, I encountered upon this steep, narrow
path a number of strange beings, so wholly out of keeping
with the scene that I could not believe my eyes. They were
members of a military cycle expedition — eight soldiers from

AMID THE PINES

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

LIEUTENANT MOSS, U. S. A.

the colored regiment of Fort Mis-
soula, in Montana, who under
the command of young Lieu-
tenant Moss, successfully
accomplished a journey of
over one thousand miles
a- wheel. Each man
carried from sixty to
seventy pounds of bag-
gage ; a complete camp-
equipment, tents, poles,
and blankets, supplies,
dishes, cooking-uten-
sils, and provisions, in
addition to the heavy
arms and ammunition.
Thus handicapped, these men
rode sometimes ninety miles a day

DIFFICULT BIKING

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

A COMPLETE CAMP ON WHEELS

over western roads that are a disgrace to our civilization.
No wonder that to them the roads within the park seemed
almost perfect by comparison.

But as we find ourselves
upon the road that skirts
the canon brink, we
must confess that the
park roads, though
not so very bad,
are, when com-
pared to Euro-
pean roads, dis-
gracefully infer-
ior. Nowhere is
a system of splen-
did highways more
needed, for railroads

THE ROAD TO THE RIM

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

have been permanently barred out. Let Congress indulge
in a wise expenditure some may call extravagance, and make
the Yellowstone a park in fact as well as in name.

Yes, as we peer into the piny labyrinths, which lie be-
tween us and the canon precipice, we feel that here nature
has done so much that man should not refuse to do his
share. Nature provides a feast of beauty ; she asks only
that man shall make the banquet hall accessible. Let us
hope that it will be done ; that the future will see here in our
park hundreds of miles of splendid avenues, which with
graceful curves and gradual inclines will lead the people of
many lands into this wilderness. Beginning at the Springs,
the throngs of future visitors will view the marvels of the

A FOREST POOL

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

park with an increasing wonder and enthusiasm, and will be
brought here to this forest, on the verge of the abyss, pre-
pared by what they have already seen to draw aside these
piny screens and look with reverence and wonder upon the
grandest sight of all, this overwhelming acme to their jour-
ney, the Grand Canon of the Yellowstone.

From Lookout Point the Great Fall looks almost in-
significant ; yet its waters drop almost twice as far as those
of huge Niagara. What seems from a distance a ribbon of
white spray is in truth a stream seventy-four feet in width
and three hundred and sixty feet in length.

Below us is a pure white mound of formation, not of
snow as we at first imagine ; but snow is not a stranger

THE GRAND CANON OF THE YELLOWSTONE

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

here ; upon the contrary it is almost a regular inhabitant, for
in the Yellowstone they say there are only three seasons and
they are called "July, and August, and Winter." And
winter is the most impressive of them all. Then no array of
startling color strikes the eye. Then all is cold and still.
The canon sleeps beneath a covering of dazzling whiteness,

IN THE YELLOWSTONE FOREST

and a great solitude is over all. For nine long months the
canon slumbers thus. Then, waked by the first kiss of sum-
mer, she gently lays aside, one by one, the robes of white in
which she has been sleeping, dons the most gorgeous of her
thousand dresses, and welcomes the return of her long-absent
lover, the sunshine of the glorious summer days.

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

POINT LOOKOUT

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

From the brink we cannot always see the depth of the
canon. "Red Rock," and pinnacles of other hues obstruct
our view, while from the canon walls great screens, like
wings on a theater-stage, have been pushed out to cut the
lines of sight and add confusion and disorder to the scene.
These delicately tinted screens are as beautiful in color as

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

they are strange in form. We find here reproduced the
Gothic forms of Occidental architecture, with an opulence of
color that is more than Oriental. Hundreds of Gothic spires,
— feudal castles, too, with fantastic crenelations, all these
are here. Nor is the masonry of cold, gray rock ; instead,
the walls are all aflame with amber, amethyst, and jasper.
Nor are these castle-ruins few in number ; they seem in truth

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

innumerable. Let us look deeper ; there far, far down are
other detached spires apparently floating in the dimness of a
lower world. And do you realize the magnitude of some of
these great natural minarets ? Yonder tower, of a dull
garnet color, would dwarf a modern office-building of twelve
stories. Do you realize the height of the great wall that

FROM THE BRINK

rises in the shadow far beyond ? To illustrate its height,
take four great buildings, each like the Masonic Temple of
Chicago, and pile them one upon another. Then place in
the canon the towering structure thus created, the ground
floor resting at the river's level. Do you believe that the
roof garden would surpass the summit of that wall ? If so,

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

PINNACLES AND TOWERS

you are mistaken ; the people gathered there would have to
look upward to see us standing on the canon's brink.

Let us now drive on until we reach the one point from
which the playful traveler is permitted to send great rocks
rolling and bounding down the steep sides
of the mighty ditch. We drop
boulder over the precipice,
first the stone rolls down the
smooth sandy slope, then, on
reaching a narrow defile some
hundreds of feet below, it be-
gins to bound back and forth
in zigzags between the bases
of the jutting pinnacles. At
every concussion the big rolling

TOSSING THE BOULDER

IOO

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

stone detaches huge masses of decom
posed rock from the cliffs, and these
join in the mad downward rush
by hundreds. Meantime we
follow with fascinated eyes
the boulder's wild career as
in leaps of several hundred
feet it nears its watery des-
tination. But it seems as if
it never would arrive, so great
is the distance it must travel.
Smaller and smaller it appears to
grow, until at last the boulder, looking

WATCHING IT ROLL

to us like a tiny
pebble, plunges
soundlessly into
the greenish flood
of the Yellow-
stone and disap-
pears. So excit-
ing is this game
of tenpins that we
search for other
rocks ; but the
brink has been
well cleared by
former players.
We find just one
stone left, the
only one that has
not been rolled
down the slope by
tourists ; nor will

MYSTKRIOUS DEPTHS

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

:oi

it be until our race becomes far sturdier than it is to-day,
for that one remaining boulder is more than fifteen feet in
diameter. It is remarkable not only for its size, but also for
its complete isolation. It is the only piece of granite in this
valley. Its nearest neighbor lies more than twenty miles
away. How came it here ? we ask ; and science answers
that it was stranded here by some prehistoric river of ice,
left to bear eternal witness to the existence of glaciers in this
region. It is a mighty mile-stone on the highway of geology.
It marks the close of an epoch in the history of our terres-
trial sphere. It records the abdication of a glacial king.

But the wondrous beauty of the forest cannot keep us
long away from the Grand Canon. We are involuntarily

A PERILOUS POSITION

102

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

drawn to the very
brink. Who is
there that cannot
understand the
fascination of the
canon ? No one
can look into its
depths, as we do
now from Inspi-
ration Point, and
not have an over-
whelming desire
to go down and
solve the mystery
of its great beauty
and its grandeur.
Who is there that
does not envy the
eagles that dwell
upon the pinnacles, and are free to soar in slow, grand curves
between these gorgeous walls, free to descend and drink of
the rushing waters far below ; free to survey the scene from
points of view which man will never reach. One mystery,
however, never can be solved ; that of the perfect blending
of these colors. All hues are there, spread out, and yet no
one can say where the yellow ceases or where the red begins.
No lines of demarcation can be traced between the purple
and the pink ; between the orange and the green ; and there
are three long miles of this chromatic glory. Three miles of
gorgeous color and of fantastic forms. Then, beyond, a
score of miles of shadow and solemnity.

Yes, as we turn and look in another direction we see the
somber pine-clad walls between which the river there flows
on for twenty miles, walls not less high nor less imposing

THE GIFT OF A GLACIER

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

than those immediately below the falls, walls which, despite
the absence of all color save a deep, rich green, possess a
grand, stern beauty of their own. That misty, shadowy
nave is, in the eyes of many, as beautiful as the brilliant
chasm from which we have turned away. The pine-trees,
of which unnumbered millions are stationed in the park, are
crowded in multitudes at the canon's brink, as if in eagerness
to look upon the scene. Some, like the more courageous
soldiers of a hesitating army, have already dared to clamber
down the walls; while others — veritable heroes these —
have reached the very border of the stream itself.

Let us now turn back and wander through the forest,
where we shall see the glory of sunset stealing between the

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes. St. Pau

FROM INSPIRATION POINT

104 YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

CONVERGING SLIDES

tall straight trunks to gild the canon walls beyond. Every
evening, returning from the contemplation of the canon, it
was through these beautiful forest-scenes that our path led
us. Often the skies flamed with gold and yellow. At other
times, the background against which the trees were silhouetted
was of brilliant red, pale pink, or tender green. It seemed
as if there in the west the gods were preparing the gorgeous
colors with which, during the long, still night, they would re-
touch the frescos on the canon walls.

Most travelers are content to view the canon from the
points to which I have already led you. Others remain
unsatisfied until they have looked into the great chasm from
"Artists' Point," the one perfect point of view, which is
unfortunately on the other bank, and in 1896 was well-nigh
inaccessible. There was no bridge ; the crossing of the river
below the falls was utterly out of the question ; but there
remained the possibility of crossing far above the upper

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

105

gorge, where the waters, although swift-flowing, present a
level, navigable surface. But there has not been a boat
upon the river since the last one, very fortunately empty,
was swept away and dashed to pieces by the cataracts.
No boat ! No bridge ! The river being now too deep and
swift to ford, I turn in my difficulty to the gallant soldiers
of Uncle Sam, who are stationed at the canon. The ser-
geant in command at the little military camp enthusiastically
comes to my assistance, and at sunrise next morning I find
him a little way above the rapids, slowly poling upstream
a raft, which he has built expressly for our excursion. At
last we reach a point from which he deems it safe to put
out into the current, where the waters, swift as those of a

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STUPENDOUS DETAILS

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YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

mill-race, are gliding on in their

eagerness to plunge into the

yawning canon, just one

mile beyond. There

was, of course, no

actual danger, yet

the thought was

ever present that

our raft, if left

to its own de-

A MILITARY GUIDE

x'iiutograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

THE GREAT FALLS FROM BELOW

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

109

once follow unresistingly that treacherous
flood, bound through the rapids and
plunge over the first fall, then dash
through the upper canon, and
finally meet annihilation in the
whirlpool at the bottom of the
great cataract.

In safety, however, we ar-
rive upon the farther shore.
Then we skirt the right bank
through a thick growth of
pine, and while we are walk-
ing through the forest, thunder-
showers come and go with great
frequency and fury. We are soon
drenched to the skin, but pressing on
we reach the edge of the forest ; the
earth appears to open at our feet, and the canon yawns

EXCHANGING

SIGNALS

DRIFTING VAPORS

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

before us, deep and mysterious. Vapors are surging upward
from its depths, but fortunately the sun is beginning to break
through the clouds above. A shaft of sunshine touches a
portion of the opposing wall, and another brilliantly illumi-
nates the pinnacles of white and gold, while others chase the
vapors rapidly away. The fears that rain and fog will render

Photograph by F. Jay Haynes, St. Paul

THE CANON OF THE YELLOWSTONE FROM GRAND VIEW

our excursion fruitless are dispelled, as, reaching another
point of view, we exchange salutes with friends on the other
rim. We shout to them, they shout to us ; but the sounds
meet only half-way and then fall into the depths between.
W7e cannot hear, nor are we ourselves heard. The river's
rumbling mocks our puny efforts to span the deep chasm with

YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

a bridge of vocal sound. We must attempt to span it with
our gaze. Few of the great sights of this world have power
to thrill us more than this vista of the canon of the Yellow-
stone. We are unable to tell what most impresses us : the
immensity of the great gulf, the infinite glory of its colored
walls, the struggling river far below, the stately army of tall
pines massed on the brink and pressing forward, apparently
as eager as we to drink in all the splendor of the scene.

UPSTREAM FROM ARTISTS POINT

All these things go to compose the scene, to form that
indefinable majesty that inspires us — to hold our peace.
Silence is the only eloquence that can avail us here. No
man has yet found language to express the majesty of this
abyss of color. But, we ask, will no voice ever perfectly ex-
press in words what we all feel but dare not, cannot speak ?
Will no great poet of the new world, inspired by these
grandeurs, ever utter the immortal song in which our vaguest
thoughts shall find interpretation ? Great, great indeed must

ii2 YELLOWSTONE NATIONAL PARK

be the soul of him who would give adequate expression to
the reverential awe inspired by a scene like this.

But what is man that he should strive to utter the
unutterable ? The emotions that overwhelm us here can be
expressed only in one language, and that is not a mortal
language ; it is the language of those to whom all mysteries
have been revealed — the great eternal, wordless language of
the soul : a language that we may not understand until the
gates of death have closed behind us.

THE CANON OF THE YELLOWSTONE FROM ARTISTS' POINT

MIM Ml IT Mo>H

FROM THE RIM

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

he
Gr&ivd
C aivoiv

THE ACME of sublimity in natural
scenery is reached in Arizona. The
world is not aware that this is true, nor do I hope to prove
that it is true except to those who, with an interest aroused
by words that are inadequate and pictures that fall far short of
the reality, shall some day undertake the marvelous journey
that glorified for me the summer of 1898.

The canon of the Colorado River has become for me a
haunting memory, dwarfing all things that I have seen,
belittling all the gorges, all the mountains that in the past
impressed me, robbing the sun of Africa of its luster, causing

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

the colors of the Orient to fade. I have
to-day a new and totally different stand-
ard by which to measure all that I
intend to see before the greater,
the eternal journey is begun ; and
I am certain that in this life
there is awaiting
me no other spec-
tacle equal to that
afforded by the
chasm of the Colo-
rado. It has revo-
lutionized my per-
ceptions of the
beautiful and the
sublime.

I believe that
when we behold
that scene for the
first time, a series
of new brain-cells
is generated, and
until they have be-

come sufficiently
developed, the
canon withholds
its message. In
the average mind
there is no place
for an impression
so unlike any be-
fore received. At

Photograph by Mary V. Worstell

THE FLAGSTAFF OF FLAGSTAFF

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

117

first sight the mentality is dazzled. He who looks but once
sees not the canon. He who would know its glory must first
prepare the tablets of his mind, — erase all preconceived im-
ages, and then with reverence approach the brink, and sitting
there day after day teach his blind eyes and blinder sense to
read through the medium of feeling the exalted message which
this supremest of earthly scenes imprints upon the soul.

And every time we read the story changes ; it is never
twice the same and it becomes ever more glorious at each
perusal, until those who have learned to read its message
tremble at thought of grander chapters and long for their for-
mer ignorance that they may recommence ere they approach
a climax too overwhelming to be borne by the human mind.

^TrtlJi j If in.

FLAGSTAFF, ARIZONA

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

And having said so much in praise of that which is to be
my theme, I must not fail to offer here and now apologies for
the unsatisfying treatment to which this theme must of
necessity be subjected. Yet why should I apologize ? It is not
in the power of man to put in words the glory of the canon.
Many have tried and all have failed, as I shall fail ; there are
degrees of failure that is all. Art has attempted to portray
what tongue has not been able to translate, and art has
failed. I say it boldly : No painting, photograph, or sketch
can do more than suggest to those who have not seen.
Photographers by scores have risked their lives to reach that
one elusive point of view where the grand lines of majesty
would meet one another at the focal plane, but all have failed.

But though all pho-
tographic records are
failures, knowing them
for failures, you ^^^^
can at I
conside

->~ . * \

**^

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

119

THE HOTEL

them fixed points
from which the
imagination may
soar in its ef-
fort to pic-
ture that
which no
imagina-
tion can
possibly
precon-
ceive.
To reach
this greatest
scenic marvel of
the world, there is
but one route practicable
for ordinary travelers ; only the south side of the canon is
accessible to those who have not the months of leisure
and the untold energy required for the exploration of the
almost unknown land that stretches away upon the north
into Utah. Accordingly, being neither explorers, geolo-
gists, nor trappers, we chose the easiest, most rapid, and
most attractive route. By rail we have been whisked
across the fertile state of Kansas, across the southeast corner
of clear-aired Colorado into New Mexico, past the quaint
old town of Santa Fe, the second oldest city in our country,
where civilization had taken root even before the Pilgrims
landed, past the stations where some day we hope to turn
aside to visit the Indian pueblos of Acoma and Zufii, the
petrified forests and the famous Mesa Encantada, or En-
chanted Mesa, so recently the cause of scientific controversy.
But all these things, intensely interesting as they are, must
wait another visit. Even the Snake Dance of the Moki

120

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

Indians cannot now arrest us. With the Grand Canon on our
minds, all other things seem for the present petty. Accord-
ingly our train flies on across the desert and the wooded
lands of Arizona toward the San Francisco Mountains.
They rise from a plateau itself eight thousand feet above the
sea ; their summits pierce the clouds five thousand feet above
the general level of this great tableland, a province in itself.
They are the guide-posts which warn the traveler to alter his
course from west to north, and change his railway coach for
a four-horse stage, for at the base of San Francisco Moun-
tains lies the town of Flagstaff, Arizona, the starting-point
for the stage ride to the canon.

The arrival of our party with cameras and chronomato-
graphs, with almost a mile of film, and rather more than two
hundred weight of plates, causes the citizens to smile and

ON THE MAIN STREET

IN THE FOREST

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

123

murmur to themselves, "Here comes another group of san-
guine photographers, doomed to disaster and defeat. "

Flagstaff has been very aptly described as a nice little
town with nothing Puritanical about it ; nor is it hypocritical.
For barefaced honest badness, all on the surface, commend
me to this frank and open town of Flagstaff, Arizona. We

ABANDONED CLIFF DWELLINGS IN WALNUT CANON

first pass three saloons, then a restaurant, a newstand, and a
barber-shop, and then another group of drinking-halls. And
there are no screen doors to hide the bars, and no attempt is
made to persuade the passing visitor that the men who sit
behind the numerous green tables, toying with piles of silver
dollars, are money-changers or collectors of the revenue.
Nor are the men who sit in silent circles around the smaller

124

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

CLIFF HABITATIONS IN WALNUT CANON

tables, playing
solitaire. No;
gambling is not
winked at by the
municipality, it is
boldly smiled up-
on, and flourishes
like a green bay-
tree upon a score
of green baize ta-
bles. Even the
smoking-room of
our hotel nightly
resounds to the
click of the ivory
chips along with
the chink of silver
dollars; but in the
glorious, health-
ful atmosphere of
Arizona much of
the abjectness of
these pitiable pur-
suits is lost.

Having an aft-
ernoon at our dis-
posal we seize the
opportunity for
visiting the curi-
ous cliff-dwellings
about eight miles
away in Walnut
Canon. What
people dwelt in

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

125

these rude semi-natural shelters, why they dwelt there, and
when, are questions that have not been answered ; but it is
probable that the inhabitants were of the same race as the
Pueblo Indians of the Southwest, and that they used these
hidden homes as places of abode during periods of warfare or
invasion. To-day they are deserted ; the bits of broken
pottery, which are occasionally picked up by the wondering
stranger, are all that tell of a past human presence here.
This canon must have been indeed a safe retreat. Although
several hundred feet in depth, its presence is entirely unsus-
pected until we find ourselves upon its brink ; for all round
about, a lovely forest clothes the level surface of the earth,
inviting us, new-comers from the world of cities, to linger
and renew acquaintance with
Nature. And Nature has to-
day put on here a robe of
spring. The eternal fascina-
tion of young June is in the
atmosphere ; here we bid
farewell to the grimy world
that we have left behind us,

SUBURBS OF FLAGSTAFF

126

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

and try to attune our souls to the concert-pitch of nature,
that they may vibrate in faultless, unbroken harmony with the
supreme impressions that are soon to strike upon them ; for
with our eyes we are to see a symphony of form and color,

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

IN THE COCONINO FOREST

we are to look upon a world of silence, light, and color,
that is more eloquent of grandeur than any musical composi-
tion that ever stirred the soul of man.

Returning to Flagstaff, we make our final preparations,
reducing our luggage to its lightest littleness, and bright and
early on the following morning drive briskly away casting
a backward glance at the old flag that floats from the
tall pole from which the town takes its name. Alas ! this
splendid flagstaff, the tallest and finest we have ever seen,
save one at the World's Fair, is doomed to quick annihila-
tion ; for ere we return from our long drive it was completely
shattered by a thunderbolt. We found it a week later a
mere stump, its middle lengths lying round about like riven

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

127

logs, its upper shaft scattered in a million tiny chips far and
wide, as if a storm of shavings had overwhelmed the town.
But it will be soon replaced, for there is here no lack of
towering trees from which to form flag-poles and masts for
ships. "What, are there trees in Arizona?" we asked
incredulously, when a companion in the train referred to a
friend in Flagstaff, who had made a fortune in the lumber
business. One of the noblest forests in America adorns these
Arizona highlands, and our route to the canon lies for fifty
miles or more through an open park-like country, where
splendid pines, pinons, and cedars stand like a multitude of
kings ; and they seem conscious of their dignity, since they
stand each at a respectful distance from the others. For
a few miles out from Flagstaff, fences accompany and guide
us ; like a long line of outriders these barriers of rails escort
us, until at last, seeing us fairly started on the proper trail to

SIX-IN-HAND

128

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

COACH AND TRAILER

the Grand Canon, they halt suddenly and leave us to drive on
without their guidance across these noble parks of open
woodland, the gathering-places of uncounted forest monarchs.
All this is very different from what we have expected to
find in Arizona. We pictured this drive as a weary progress
across a sage-brush desert. How grateful are we to find it
a delightful dash over pine-needles and across cool shadows
cast by arborescent sunshades. And this surprise is but the
first and least astounding that is to greet us in this unfamiliar,
unappreciated, misrepresented Territory. I wish that I
could put in words the sweet exhilaration that comes with
every breath of this dry, cool air through which we ride,
perched high on the box-seat behind six toiling horses.
Here, as in the Yellow-
stone, it is a joy to feel
oneself alive. We travel
thus for one day, ten or
eleven hours long, the dis-
tance covered being al-
most seventy miles. Four
relays of six horses each
enable us to make fast
time, and save the jour-
ney from being a weary

FROM THE FRONT SEAT OF THE TRAILER

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA 129

one, as it would be were we compelled to use one team for the
entire drive. When there are so many passengers that one
coach would be overcrowded, a second coach or " trailer " is
attached, transforming our conveyance into a long train that
measures forty-eight feet from the tips of the leaders' noses
to the tail-board of the trailer. Unhappy are the mortals who
become inmates of that trailer ; they assiduously collect all the
dust, their view is cut off by the forward coach, and they see
little else. When crossing the broad stretch of desert that

Photograph by H. C. Woman, Pasadena

THE SAN FRANCISCO MOUNTAINS

separates the two delightful timber regions, deep wheel-ruts
in the yellow soil cause the first coach to act like an over-
laden schooner in a heavy sea : a nerve-shaking inclination
to starboard is followed by a sudden reeling lurch to port,
accompanied by suppressed exclamations, and frantic clutch-
ings at the stanchions. These antics of our flag-ship are
seen by those in the trailer through a cloud of dust, and
serve as prophecies and warnings that they may know just
what their craft is going to do, and be prepared to hold tight

130

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

at the proper moment. These little vagaries, however, serve
to relieve the monotony of this stage of the journey, and to
increase the appetites with which we soon attack a whole-
some luncheon at a half-way station, called " The Cedars. "
Throughout the day the San Francisco Mountains have
been ever-present features of the view. They are extinct
volcanoes, and are among the grandest volcanic piles in the
United States. Snow lies upon their summits nearly all the

Photograph by the Detroit Photographic Company

HALF-WAY HOUSE AT THE CEDARS

year, for no fires are now there to melt their icy caps. And
near at hand are uncounted volcanic cinder cones, rising like
gigantic ant-hills from the level floor of the plateau. We see
them sharply defined against the sky as we scan this, the
only blank page of our journey — a dull brown page that lies
between the verdant leaves on which the pictures of the
Arizona forest are printed in deep green.

Far to the right we may discern the pale pink tones of the
far-off "Painted Desert," beyond which lies the country of

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

VOLCANIC CINDER CONES

the Mokis, — a country to which we are soon to make our way,
for there is in the west no region richer in color and barbaric
strangeness than that desert home of the little Moki nation.
Erelong these barren miles are covered, and once more
the forest closes in around us ; the ghostly aspens, with their
quaking leaves and gleaming bodies, adding an uncanny note
to the rich gloom of the forest depths. But all this time
there is no hint of canons, no thought of heights or depths,
not a suggestion of sublimity. Beauty and exhilaration, the
curious and the interesting, have char-
acterized the day's experiei
but nothing has yet thri
us. We have been happy,
but we have not been
impressed, until — late
in the afternoon — -
we glance toward the
northeast and see re-
vealed, but oh, so
faintly, in far-off re-
gions, whether of sky
or earth we cannot yet
be sure, a vision of rosy
glory, a suggestion of th<

134

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

infinite, a something that takes hold on the attention and
will not let it go ; a something that in spite of all its vague-
ness, remoteness, and unearthliness, causes our pulses to
beat faster, for we know that yonder pinkish line is an
emanation of the glory of the canon, brooding on the dis-
tant farther shore of the great gulf that we have come so

PARK-LIKE VISTAS

far to see. It is soon lost to view ; our weary horses now
attack the last ascending mile of the long trail and seem
to travel with exasperating slowness, since our thoughts
outspeed them in our haste to be upon the canon brink
and to know at last the true meaning of those words so
often misapplied, "sublime" and "beautiful."

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA 135

" THE CANON EXPRESS"

Another mile and we are near our destination, although
no further sign of anything aside from sylvan scenery is mani-
fest. And even when at last the tents of the Grand Canon
Camp loom snow-white amid the trees, we feel that there is
some mistake ; the canon cannot be so near, and its grand
presence so utterly dissembled.

NEARING THE CANON

136

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

THE HOTEL TENT

every man in Arizona
finds himself the slave
of an excellent appetite.
The ladies are assigned
to single tents, of which
a score are scattered about.
The men, all hungry as wild

ROOM NUMBER NINE

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

137

beasts, are led into a canvas caravansary big as a circus tent,
where canvas cages for each one of us have been provided.
We write our names in the register of this unique hotel, and
then pick up and curiously peruse another volume of hand-
writing, marked, "John Hance's Visitors' Book." In it we
find set down impressions of the canon writ by men and
women of all nationalities, all ages, and all grades of culture ;
and from that library of eloquence let me quote.

To begin with, our attention is focused on the, as yet
unknown, personality of Captain John Hance, the owner of the
book, by this entry : "John Hance is one half — the Canon
is the other half. ' ' This instantly inspires a desire to meet
the canon's other half and when a moment later that desire
is fulfilled, we gaze with awe on Captain Hance and call to
mind a second statement found in the Canon Bible : "God
made the Canon. John Hance made the trails. Without

AT HANCE S

138

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

jy the Detro

jtographic Company

CAPTAIN JOHN HANCE

the other, neither would be complete." I leave it to theo-
logians to tell just what the author meant — whether the
incompleteness was an attribute of Hance or of the Deity.
The author of this line was, by the way, a man well known
in Arizona as the best sheriff that ever captured outlaws in
the territory ; Bucky O'Neill, who died, as he had lived, like
a hero, among the Roosevelt Rough Riders on the hill of
San Juan at Santiago.

But as we sit on the veranda of the Log House, which is
the nucleus of the camp, let us cull a few more gems of elo-
quence from Hance 's book of gold, and thereby fit our minds
for the enjoyment of the canon. A would-be poet writes : —
"Almighty Jove, thy wondrous hand
Hath carved with skill this Canon Grand. "
The next man writes : ' The Canon is the boss ditch of the
world." And farther on, appended to a detailed description

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

of a ride along the rim, some gushing girl has added this
post scriptum : —

"P. S. — I think that it is very deep and grand and that it
must have taken a very long time to make it. I would like
to stay here forever, it is so beautiful."

Then comes the bold hand of a man, but not a very old
one, for he writes: "I fully agree with the above, and
desire to record the statement that a pleasant lady adds much
to the enjoyment of the trip."

But why do you not lead us to the brink and show us that
which we have
come half-way
across the conti-
nent to see? Why
linger in this little
camp concealed
amid the trees
when there awaits
us so superb a
spectacle ? Why
do you hesitate ?
Because I fear to
disappoint you.
I fear that I shall
not be happy in
the choice of the
words with which
to usher you into
the presence of
that scene. I am
afraid that the
only pictures that
I can show you
will not produce

THE CAMP FROM THE RIM

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

upon you the impressions that
they should. I fear that you
will misjudge both the
canon and also him who
seeks to show it you,
because of the im-
perfect media of
revelation. A soul
returned from Para-
dise would scarcely
be at a greater loss
for words or similes
than one who strives
to give the message of
the Colorado Canon to an

THE TRAIL BEGI

expectant audi-
ence. And yet it
must be done, no
matter how ill.

Let me then
beg your sympa-
thy and pray your
pardon while I
slowly draw the
veil, and with rev-
erential gesture
reveal at first a
mere glimpse,
and then another
until at last the
mind and eye be
prepared to take

ON THE RIM

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

141

and hold impressions born of wider vistas, which in them-
selves are but puny fractions of a mighty entirety that can-
not be revealed. Within half a hundred yards of our
forest-hidden tents yawns this unworldly chasm ; great rocks
stand about trembling on the brink, old pine-trees shed

AYERS PEAK

their cones into these hazy depths that are not fathomable
to the eye. And we, unless we are of sterner stuff than
the insensate rocks, must tremble too as we stand here
listening to the most appalling silence that ever smote the
ear of man, an awful silence that seems to tell the endless
story of eternity and death. The sensation of him who for
the first time looks and listens is one of expectant suspense.

142

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

We gaze and wait and wait ; for surely something is about to
happen. This cannot last ; it is not possible that a scene
like this can remain unchanged ; it cannot be that it is
immobile ; surely it must soon move or change. This rock
must fall, these walls be shaken by an earthquake, or yonder
cliff that soars above us must surely become animate and
bow its proud head in reverence to the glory that is in the
earth beneath and in the sky above. And yet the seconds

Photograph by the Detroit Photographic Company

A POINT OF VANTAGE

and the minutes pass, and in all the earth there is no sound,
no movement, and no change, unless we count the involun-
tary gasp with which we greet each wider vista, the pound-
ing of our hearts, and the epoch-making change that is
occurring in our minds — the shattering of old ideals of beauty
and of grandeur, the forming of a new standard by which
in the future we shall measure all that is beautiful or grand.
And still, what we have yet seen is as nothing — mere

A CANON CLIFF

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

glimpses of infinity, mere peeps at things which in the great
ensemble of the canon will never more be recognized or noted.
The towering cliff on which we take our stand a moment
later appears like the supremest point, the summit of this
Canon World ; and yet it is a tiny nothing, a mere crinkle
in the wall, completely lost to view, like a thousand of its
equals, when from a point below we strive next day to locate
and to recognize it. For want of a more striking and a
newer simile, we must liken the man who, balanced there
aloft, looks down upon us, to an insect ; but though a man
perched on these pinnacles looks small and puny, he cannot
feel his littleness. At least, no man of soul can here feel
insignificant ; the fact that his mentality is big enough to see
and feel that which is here revealed makes every thinking
man appear respectable in his own eyes, and makes the poet
or the dreamer feel himself akin to the immortals.
I hold that no well-balanced mind finds itself petty

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

in the presence of the canon. It is proud to possess percep-
tions of grandeur equal to the task imposed upon them.
There is an exaltation in the thought that the human con-
sciousness is able to conceive a sense of such grandeur, and to
find enjoyment in a spectacle so overwhelmingly magnificent.

Photograph by the Detroit Photographic Company

And as in imagination we stand upon another pinnacle
and let our gaze sweep far and wide across the world of
wonder, let me borrow the words of Captain Dutton, the geolo-
gist, whose marvelous descriptions are unfortunately buried
in bulky tomes of Government Reports. He says that "the
lover of nature, whose perceptions have been trained in the
Alps or in any other mountain region, enters this strange

A PANORAMA

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

region with a shock and dwells here for a time with a sense
of oppression and perhaps with horror. Whatsoever things
he had learned to regard as beautiful and noble, he would
seldom or never see, and whatsoever he might see would
appeal to him as anything but beautiful and noble. Whatso-

LOOKING UP THE CANON

ever might be bold and striking would at first seem only
grotesque. But time brings a gradual change. He suddenly
becomes conscious that the outlines which at first seemed
harsh and trivial have grace and meaning ; that forms which
seemed grotesque are full of dignity ; that magnitudes which
had added enormity to coarseness have become replete with
strength and even majesty ; that colors which had been

148

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

esteemed unrefined, immodest, and glaring, are as expressive,
tender, changeful, and capacious of effects as any other.

And as we change our point of view let me continue in
Captain Button's words, for he has said these things so
well that no one need attempt to say them better : "The
Grand Canon is a great innovation in modern ideas of scen-
ery, and in our conceptions of the grandeur, beauty, and
power of nature. As with all great innovations, it is not to
be comprehended in a day or a week nor even in a month.

"Great innovations, whether in art or literature, in
science or in nature, seldom take the world by storm ; they
must be understood before they can be estimated, and must
be cultivated before they can be understood.

Photograph by the Detroit Photographic Company

THE CANON NEAR PEACH SPRINGS

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

149

"It is so with the great canon. . . . Subjects which
disclose their full power, meaning, and beauty as soon as
they are presented to the mind, have very little of those
qualities to disclose. Moreover, a visitor to the chasm comes
with a picture of it created by his own imagination. He
reaches the spot, the conjured picture vanishes in an instant,
and the place of it must be filled anew. Surely no imagina-
tion can construct out of its own material any picture having
the remotest resemblance to the Grand Canon. In all the
vast space beneath and around us there is very little upon
which the mind can linger restfully.

"It is useless to select special points of contemplation.
The instant the attention lays hold of them it is drawn to

Photograph by the Detroit Photographic Company

THE INNER GORGE NEAR PEACH SPRINGS

150

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

something else, and if it seeks to recur to them, it cannot
find them. Everything is superlative, transcending the power
of intelligence to comprehend it.

"There is no central point or object around which the
other elements are grouped and to which they are tributary.
The grandest objects are merged in a congregation of others
equally grand. If any one of these stupendous creations had
been planted upon the plains of central Europe, it would
have influenced modern art as profoundly as Fujiyama has
influenced the decorative art of Japan. Yet here are hun-
dreds of them swallowed up in the confusion of multitude."

Must we not envy the unknown beings who in ages past
dwelt in the presence of this scene — in stone houses reared

IMMKNSITY

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

153

upon the summits of these gray columnar towers that rise
within a few yards from the rim ? Vestiges of dwelling-
houses are still visible upon one of the nearest summits,
and at many other points within a few miles of our camp.
Our first day on the canon 's rim is full of wonder and sur-
prise, a day forever memorable, but not more memorable
than the days that are to follow.

It is one form of intense pleasure to view the canon from
above ; it is a totally different experience to go down to its
very depths and dip our fingers in the murky waters of the
Colorado River, that in places glides with oily smoothness, in
others foams and fights in its black granite gorge six thou-
sand feet below, so far away that no sound of its struggling
reaches us, buried
so deep that it
scarce seems to
bear relationship
to the living riv-
ers of the upper
world.

To ramble on
the brink calls for
no effort greater
than that attend-
ing a stroll along
a forest path, for
a smooth, safe,
and almost level
trail has been con-
structed, winding
away and follow-
ing the shore line
of the bays and
gulfs, to the tip

ROCK-FRAMED DEPTHS

154

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

ends of promontories jutting into space ten miles distant.
Each step in advance reveals a new and ever-varying vista, and
the return along the same easy trail holds in reserve surprises,
new compositions of old views, strange new effects of light
and shade, of brilliant sunshine, and of gloomy violet shadow.
One day spent on the rim satisfies some minds. We are
inclined to tell ourselves that we have seen all that it is pos-
sible to see ; and
many, feeling
thus, depart the
next morning aft-
er their arrival.
But those who
stay are rewarded
as no travelers
have ever been
rewarded else-
where, and the
longer they re-
main the larger
their reward ; for
every day brings
to the eye new
powers, opens to
the mind new vis-
tas ; the joy of be-
ing here increases
day by day, until
we verge upon the
state of perfect
happiness. And
oh, the infinite
variety of our ex-

** :5P*** ' L&* mm

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Photograph by the Detroit Photographic Company
ALONE WITH NATURE

penences

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

155

DEPARTURE FOR THE DEPTHS

have already strolled with ease and safety along the brow of
countless precipices and looked down into a world that
seems inviolable, — a world to which apparently man must
remain a stranger for all time, and yet we, even we, the city-
dwellers, the inhabitants of regions that are commonplace,
may drop into the depths of this unearthly chasm, and, like
Dante, see strange things, yet live to tell of that which we
have seen ; but alas ! not with Dante's
words of power. Like Dante,
we begin our wanderings in
an obscure savage wood ;
but unlike Dante we are
mounted — not on the
winged horses of the
Muses, but — on the
mules and the burros
of good old Captain
Hance, who in our case
replaces Virgil as guide.
In early morning Captain

STARTING FOR THE TRAIL

1 56

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

Hance rounds up his
stock and brings them
saddled to the camp.
Our wraps, camera, and
blankets are tied on the
packs, the men select the
beasts to whom their lives
are now to be entrusted,
and climb into the com-
fortable western saddles.
The only lady in our little
band of bold adventurers
must bow to the strict
rules of Captain Hance
and don divided skirts,
for the old guide will
have no ladies in his train
who will not ride astride.
He keeps a special skirt
on hand for those who do
not come provided with
the proper costume. The

wgrM

' J &

J> ." < ^'^

FOLLOWING THE LEADER

reason for this rule will soon be mani-
fest, for when we reach the canon
brink, we, with a tremor born
of surprise and of dizziness,
launch our animals into the
abyss. Now the path down
which we have turned ap-
pears impossible. When
yesterday we passed the
place where it forks down-
ward from the trail along the
rim, we scarcely noted it, so

A TICKLISH TRAIL

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

faint and narrow did it look, so steep that we could not sup-
pose that it was the beginning of the famous highway down
which we were to ride upon the morrow. The pitch for the
first mile is frightful ; in places it almost surpasses the angle of
repose ; and to our dismayed, unaccustomed minds the inclina-
tion apparently increases, as if the canon wall were slowly top-
pling inwards, and we anticipate the horror of the moment
when the animals will not be able to retain a footing. And

FROM SUNSHINE TO SHADOW

this impression that the wall is toppling is strengthened into
conviction by an upward glance, for the dizzy rim, from which
we drop away so suddenly, appears to sway ; its sky-line, by
that curious optical illusion peculiar to things that loom above
us, seems to be continually advancing into space, as if in time
the whole gigantic mass would overwhelm us. Were it not
for the occasional stretches of comparatively level trail the
suspense would soon become unbearable. The continued
strain upon the consciousness is increased by the strange,
almost human actions of the animals ; by their slow, careful
placing of the feet, by the jolt that follows every downward

i6o

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

step, by the instant of recovery, at some unprotected
' ' elbow ' ' of the trail where one stirrup dangles in the void, the
eye plunges down a thousand feet, and the mind goes run-
ning back along life's pathway in a hasty search for those
matters that are most insistently calling for repentance.

There may be men who can ride unconcernedly down
Hance's trail, but I confess that I am not one of them. My
object in descending
made it essential that
I should live to tell
the tale, and there-
fore, emboldened by
the thought of a duty
that I owed to pro-
spective auditors, I
mustered up sufficient
moral courage to dis-
mount and scramble
down the steepest and
most awful sections of
the path on foot ; and
it takes more courage
to get off and walk,
while the only woman
in the party remains
in the saddle, than it
does to face the hor-
ror of a fall. I say
that I descended sec-
tions of the trail on
foot. "On foot,"
however, does not ex-
press it, but on heels
and toes, on hands

Pnotograph by the Detroit Photographic Company
HANCE ON HIS TRAIL

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

161

FOR ART'S SAKE

d knees, and sometimes in the posture as-
sumed by children when they come bump-
ing down the stairs ; thus did I glissade
around "Cape Horn," and past a
dozen other places, where neither the
mocking laughter of the men nor the
more bitter words of sympathy from
the brave Amazon could tempt me
to forget that my supremest duty
was to live to give a lecture on the
canon. Captain Hance expressed it
best when he referred to the "lecturer
who came down part way like a crab.
It is unnecessary to explain why I can
show no photographs of the dizzy
places I describe. I really had not
time to press the button ; but later,
when with a confidence born of experi-
ence we descend another trail, I promise you glimpses of
some places where mental hairs invariably stand on end.

And yet the trails are perfectly
secure, no lives have been lost
here, few accidents occur ;
the traveler is safer in
the saddle, and as we
soon discovered, the
mules knew more of
the proper way to
scramble down this
zigzag chute of shat-
tered rock than we.
This conviction once
rooted in our minds
fear, like the coward
11

ARRIVAL AT THE RIVER

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

ching it is, will vanish,
and we begin to won-
der how we could
have been concerned
about so small a mat-
ter as our miserable
bodies, while scenes
of glory are revealed
to us at every turn.
When we drink in
scenes such as these,
the senses are intoxi-
cated ; but our sure-
footed mules are per-
fectly sober, and with
reassuring delibera-
tion they slip and
glide, stumble and
jolt, deeper and ever
deeper into the chasm
of the Colorado. If
measured by a tape
that follows all its

A VERTICAL MILE OK ROCK

curves and angles, its
zigzags and its windings, our pacn is between eight and
nine miles long. The distance from the launching-place
for mules, upon the brink, to the launching-place for boats,
upon the brink of the raging Colorado, is in a direct line
about four miles. The difference in altitude between the
river level and the summit of the wall is something greater
than a mile, about six thousand feet ; in other words, the
canon is fully as deep as Mount Washington is high. The
walls appear almost to touch the skies, yet the foreshorten-
ing is such that their full majesty is not appreciated from

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

below. From below the nearer cliff looks half as high as
the real sky-line above it, but in reality this little palisade
from which gigantic boulders have been hurled down, is
but a mere detail, an insignificant half-step in the grand
stairway of the canon. That which is near to us, although
immense, becomes as nothing when we reach a point whence
it can be viewed in its relations to the stupendous whole.

But we cannot realize these magnitudes. As Captain
Dutton says : "Not only are we deceived, but we are con-
scious that we are deceived, and yet we cannot conquer the

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

ON THE BANKS OF THE COLORADO

164 THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

deception. Dimensions mean nothing to the senses, and all
that we are conscious of in this respect is a troubled sense of
immensity.

At last the roar of waters tells us that our ride is nearly
ended, that in four hours we have made our way down to a
level to attain which the Colorado has been laboring for ages
upon ages. A few rods more and we behold the surging
struggles of the great angry prisoner of the canon ; and as
we dip our fingers in the murky, coffee-colored tide, we feel

Photograph copyright 1899, by H. G. Peabody, Boston

A STORM IN THE CANON

the same thrill that comes to him who for the first time
stands upon a long-desired mountain-top and holds his hands
aloft as if to touch the skies. Strange mountaineering this,
where men go down to reach their goal and scale steep cliffs
to reach the world of men once more !

But as we look around us, we can scarcely realize that
we are six thousand feet below the level of the surrounding
land. We are disappointed to find no striking acme here,
as the reward for our fatigue and labor. The descent and

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

165

DINNER IN THE DEPTHS

ascent are in themselves such mag-
nificent experiences that there is
no possibility of a satisfying
culmination at the journey's
end. It is as if we found
ourselves in a region of
broken, rocky mountains,
carved into strange weird
shapes, but not of overpow-
ering size. The effect of be-
ing in a canon is here com-
pletely lost. The Titanic walls
have shrunk backward and also
downward behind the minor buttes and palisades, and we
look in vain for the outer limits of the gulf. The true sky-
line of the canon is not visible, though here and there some
isolated promontory- tip projects into the ether, like a dot left
to mark the place where once the huge escarpment stood.

Our thirst assuaged by draughts of water that is almost
mud, filtered between the teeth, we first unpack the animals,
indulge in a rude picnic beneath a meager cottonwood, and
then, during a long, hot afternoon, we wander round about
the camp, scaling low cliffs, in
deavor to reach some stirring point
of view. We clamber over rod
along the river brink, watching
the river as it glides heavily
around the long, sweeping
curves, attacks with a fierce
ardor the besetting rocks, and
then rushes on from rapids
into whirlpools, and out again
into a broad smooth channel
where for a space, its wrath

COOLING THE CANTEENS

1 66

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

appeased, it slips on silently, preparing for fresh struggles,
gathering new strength with which to vanquish other greater
obstacles below. At length, weary with the day's excitement,
we sup in camp at twilight, and spreading down our sleeping-
bags or blankets we are soon ushered into dreamland, — a
land far less strange, far less unreal than the mysterious
night-enveloped chasm that yawns above us, during our dis-
turbed slumbers, like a moonlit gulf of space.

Photograph copyright 1899, by H. G. Peabody, Boston

AFTER THE STORM

It is not granted to every man to sleep six thousand feet
underground, yet this place where we make our bed is one
mile farther from the soaring moon than the camp in which
we slept the night before. Here in the bottom of the canon
perpetual summer reigns, while on the brink above the
seasons come and go, winter whitening the brows of all the
palisades, and summer wreathing round the head of every cliff
a diadem of leaves and flowers. We do not sleep as soundly
as we might ; the consciousness of the strange, mighty cham-
ber where we lie disturbs our dreams and the muttering of the

Photograph by the Detroit Photographic Co.

GRAND CANON OF THE COLORADO

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

ASLEEP ON" THE COLORADO SANDS

deep-voiced Colo-
rado is in our ears.
At last the dawn comes peeping into our apartment
through a world-wide opening in the roof, and it looks down
upon a group of slumberers smug and ridiculous enough to
make Morning laugh. And laugh she does, with sunny laugh-
ter, and we on waking laugh at one another, and running to
the river make a hasty toilet with cold mud for water and
the Arizona sun for towels. Then at breakfast we indulge in
ham and bread and beans that grow in cans, and sardines
that never saw the sea, and tinned salmon that never learned
to swim ; anything is good enough for breakfast in this glori-
ous Arizona land. Even the fact that the paper bags con-
taining salt and sugar had exploded in the packs, and had
mingled their gastronomically uncongenial contents, could
not rob the coffee of its savor nor cause us to reject the
tea. For loss of appetite I can conceive no surer cure than
an excursion to the canon. That which people elsewhere
cannot eat they can and send to Arizona.

Then Captain Hance rounds up the animals, saddles the
horses, packs the mules, and we begin our skyward journey.
The weary way is shortened by the tales of Captain Hance,
who is, as all men know, a vivacious chronicler of the most

I/O THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

fnotograph copyright 1899, by H.G. Peabody, Boston

THE CURVING COLORADO

unbelievable events that ever happened. He is the hero of
more strange adventures than any man alive. Once he was
hanged for horse-stealing — "stringed up for morn three
hours, and when they ket me down I kem to in ha'f an hour.
An', moreover, I didn't steal no horses; they jest come up
and puts their necks into the noose of the halter I was
a-carryin', and foller'd me."

As a rough rider Captain Hance has made a record, but
he admits that his attempt to leap a horse across the canon
was a failure. " He giv a fine big jump — but when we was
'bout ha'f- way over, I seed we couldn't make it, so I turned
him back. "

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

171

As our sturdy energetic horses attack with a surprising
vigor the steep, rough trail that lifts its windings toward the
world above, the journey is beguiled by recollections of these
wonderful adventures of bold Captain Hance. His marvel-
ous encounter with a gigantic bear is now a canon classic.
Chased by the hungry beast, Hance drops his gun and rushes
up a tree ; the bear at first throws stones, then picks up
Hance s rifle and looks it over knowingly; and finally with
almost human dexterity shoulders the Winchester and bangs
away three times at his intended victim. "I do believe,"
says Captain Hance, "that if they'd 'a' been another ket-
ridge in that gun he 'd 'a ' shot me, sure. " " What followed?
we inquire breathlessly. "Oh, bimeby he got tired and
ambled off. " And to our query, "Did he take the gun?"
the Captain, with a forgiving smile, replies : " Well, no, he
didn't ; you see there was some honor in him. "

We made a motion picture of the Captain telling of his
famous experience with a big silver salmon in the river.

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

The Captain loves to fish ; he
also loves to doze, and so one
day he tied his line to his left
leg and settled down upon the
river brink to snooze ; a big
fish took the bait, jerked slum-
bering Hance into the flood,
and towed him rapidly down
stream. "I didn't mind the
rapids or the rocks, ' ' the Cap-
tain tells us ; ' ' but I was af eard
that when that darn old fish
came to a deep whirlpool, he 'd
sink down to rest in quiet wa-
ters at the bottom, and I knew
the line wa'n't long enough to
let me stay on top. And that s
just what he done, pulling me
down after him. Of course I
didn't want to lose my line, so,
seeing there was no other way,
I clim down that line hand-
over-hand till I reached Mr.
Salmon. I whips out my knife,
cuts off the line right by his
mouth, and giving him a big
kick square in the face, I swum
ashore, and I never see that
fish again. "

In early afternoon we reach
the forest and pass the morrow
restfully in wandering through
it, following the old Moki In-
dian trail, or making excursions

E S FISH-STORY

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

173

to new points of van-
tage on the rim or to
the far extremities of
capes and promon-
tories whence other
splendid vistas are re-
vealed. The sublime
points of view are al-
most numberless, and
the wandering stran-
ger will every now
and then stumble into
the presence of the
canon, and with every
new glimpse of the
chasm there is born
a new suggestion of
grandeur, impossible
to translate verbally.

Our journey to
the depths has given
us a new conception
of the canon. Now that we know its magnitude, we look
upon it with new interest and find that we continually ask
ourselves, How was it made, and when ?

The story of the making of the canon covers a period
not measurable in centuries. Before man was, the canon
had been ; after man shall cease to be, the canon probably
will continue to exist, and yet the existence of the canon is
but transitory ; its creation, duration, and disappearance are
but incidents in the history of our globe. The surface of the
earth is undergoing constant changes, although one change
may take more centuries than are counted in the life of the
human race. Where land once was, there is now water,

STEEP AS A STAIRWAY

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

where water is, there will in time be land. So it has been
and will be with this Grand Canon region.

But let us turn our gaze away from the abyss and look out
upon the forest-covered land that stretches away in simple,
dignified immensity toward east and south. This, probably,
was the aspect of the region before the Colorado carved its
trench and laid bare those layers of colored rock, which had
been deposited here in the long ages during which this dis-
trict was submerged. Geologists tell us that it once formed
the bed of a great arm of the ocean, later that of a brackish
estuary, and later still the bed of a fresh-water lake ; for as
the ages passed, the entire region slowly rose, pressed
upward by some mysterious internal force. It was raised no
less than eighteen thousand feet. It is now only eight thou-
sand feet above the sea, for as it rose, the upper strata, to a

thickness of ten
thousand feet,
were planed down
evenly and swept
away, carried off
to another part of
the world by the
all-transporting
waters. Then as
the land, com-
posed of many
colored strata,
continued to be
thrust up, the cli-
mate which had
been damp grew
arid, the waters
decreased in vol-
ume, and became

ON THK OLD MOKI TRAIL

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

177

unequal to the task of
planing down all of
the vast area. But
the lake remained,
fed by the streams
that rolled down from
the high mountain-
regions in the distant
north. And its wa-
ters began to carve a
channel of escape
from their arid pris-
on ; thus the canon
of the Colorado had
its birth. The wa-
ters, armed with such
tools as sediment
and sand and grit,
began to file a groove
in the slowly uplifting
mass of the plateau,
and keeping at their
work for centuries of
centuries, they ap-
plied their instru-
ments firmly against
the upward moving
rocks, and cut and cut, holding their right of way at its old
level, while on either side, in the succeeding millenniums, the
great walls were rising slowly, imperceptibly. Thus the Colo-
rado did not begin at the top and carve its channel downward
for six thousand feet ; the land itself has risen, the river has
but maintained its former level, filing away for countless ages
at its ever-rising bed. And yet the present canon, deep as it
12

Photograph copyright 1899, by H. G. Peabody, Boston
ON GRAND VIEW POINT

i78

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

GNAWED
THE TEETH OF AGES

feet ; and could
we once more
spread them out
over this denuded
table-land upon
each side of the
Colorado Canon,
the chasm would
then appear as an
abyss of vastly
magnified dimen-
sions, for its ver-
tical depth from
the topmost of
those vanished
layers down to the

is, does not represent even one
half of the work accom-
plished by the gritty,
grinding flood. To
appreciate fully the
mighty labors of
the river, we must
in imagination re-
store the missing
upper strata that
once were piled
above this present
surface of the pla-
teau. These missing
strata, in the aggre-
gate, were of an average
thickness of ten thousand

NATURE'S ARCHITECTURE

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

179

river-bed would
be not less than
sixteen thousand
feet. Had it not
been for that
even denuda-
tion, or planing
down, of the en-
tire region dur-
ing long periods
of copious moist-
ure, had the cli-
mate become

FROM A DRAWING BY PROFESSOR W. H. HOLMES arid Si feW ageS

earlier, we should now have an even more stupendous Colo-
rado Canon, one more than three miles deep.

But the river was not twelve miles wide ; how could it
carve so broad a chasm ? We can conceive of this filing pro-
cess creating a deep narrow canon two hundred and more miles
in length, but that a river, itself
less than five hundred
in width, could hav
created this vast sub-
terranean moun
tain region that
is from five to
twelve miles in
width is even
incredible. In-
credible indeed
if we regard the '
waters as the
only agents ; but
there are numerous

FROM A DRAWING BY PROFESSOR W. H. HOLMES

i8o

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

other forces that
have been cease-
lessly at work.
The river cuts a
trench only as
wide as its own
water-surface,
and no wider.
But the cutting
of this trench ex-
poses long ver-
tical walls to the
action of the ele-

FROM A DRAWING BY PROFESSOR W. H. HOLMES UientS, which

vigorously attack them. The rains fall, the winds blow,
frost freezes and sunshine thaws ; the rain-born rills begin
to eat into the walls ; they gather sand and sediment and
thus as they descend, their force is multiplied, and they
erode more and more vigorously. Small fragments of rock
are broken from the calm faces of the cliffs by alternating
blows of heat and cold, and falling, strike and shatter other
fragments from the lower wall. Thus gradually the cliffs are
weathered away and slowly recede in opposite directions.
In some places the destroying agents work more rapidly and
carve out bays and gulfs or narrow gorges and side canons,
thus multiplying the surfaces exposed to attack and denuda-
tion. The material torn from the walls by storm-born cata-
racts, or hurled into the depths by the action of other
elements is eventually disintegrated and reaches the river-bank
in the form of sand or grit or pebbles. Then the busy river
seizes upon it and presses it into service for the prosecution
of the endless task of riling down the granite channel, and,
thus borne seaward by the hideous earth-laden river, each
grain of sand washed down from the proud cliffs, each atom

'■!■

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

183

broken by storm from the aspiring pinnacles aloft, each
pebble rolled from the high world above by force of ava-
lanche, is compelled to do its share toward the completion of
this never-to-be-completed enterprise of nature, the making
of the Colorado Canon. And all the rock and earth that
once filled this abyss, after accomplishing its appointed task

Photograph copyright 1899, by H. G

:abody, Boston

COLOSSAL DETAILS

of cutting, carving, and sculpturing under the direction of the
Master River, has been transported to the Gulf of California.
Thus in the course of ages the cliffs, like parting mon-
archs, have slowly backed away from one another, until a
zone of glory five to twelve miles in width now separates
them ; and this unearthly zone is peopled by strange, gor-
geous forms, the offerings left by the retiring monarchs, as
tokens of their former close relationship, — weird, beautiful,
inimitable objects, the like of which no man has ever seen
before, rock carvings as huge as temples, fantastic buttes as

1 84

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

''^iJitlB"

^^y^fttififiP* *-»^

BL^

Ip2j8

HE WORK OF THE WATERS

big as mountains,
and in the very
midst of this ti-
tanic Field of the
Cloth of Gold
there lies in sinu-
ous curves a long
chain that once
was silvery as the
virgin waters of a
glacier, — a chain
that now is brown
and rusty with
the wear and toil
of ages ; for the
only thing that is
not beautiful in
this gay Wonder
World is the un-
happy Colorado
River, its archi-
tect and builder.

THE COLORADO RIV;

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA 187

Remembering these facts, we can with a more intelligent
appreciation of its meaning again descend into the canon.
We chose this time a different starting-point, a different trail.
Two or three miles from the little camp of tents where we
made our headquarters during our visit in early June, 1898,
we find a cosy comfortable hotel, a big log-house, erected
and presided over by Mr. Peter Berry. For a hotel
proprietor Mr. Berry was altogether too retiring. We were

EARTH-LADEN WATERS

on the point of leaving the canon in ignorance of the exist-
ence of this place, when, quite by accident, we stumbled
upon it during an aimless ramble ; but, once discovered, the
attractions of this Grand View Hotel, and the Grand View
Trail, at the head of which this hotel stands, proved so con-
vincing that in August, after our return from the Hawaiian
Islands, we came a second time to the Grand Canon, pur-
posely to explore that section of the canon reached by the
Grand View Trail, under the guidance of Mr. Peter Berry.

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

I cannot say enough in praise of our kind host and of the
comforts offered by his log hotel. Here, even in the colder
seasons, a long sojourn would be a not uncomfortable experi-
ence. There is a cheeriness about the interior, an aspect of
solidity and warmth in the stout log walls, and a white-
aproned, white-capped European personage, quite worthy of
the title, "chef," presiding over the cuisine. For one of
those wandering Continental culinary artists had drifted to

BERRY'S GRAND VIEW HOTEL

this distant end of earth in the course of his restless world
pilgrimage, and while he lingered near the canon, all visitors
to the Grand View Hotel enjoyed the luxury of Continental
cooking, — a luxury that here appears to be ridiculously out
of place. Our host is a collector of canon curiosities ; the
office is an incipient museum. His greatest treasure is a jar
or olla, discovered in a cave in the canon wall, — -a cave so
inaccessible that it proved almost impossible to bring forth the
olla in safety. Unlike Mr. Hance, Berry is a man of few

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

189

!■• r^1^^

1 • 1

i1Tl

■ II- «

i£/yvJ

JrL

1 Mi

words, but those
few words are al-
ways to the point.
There is nothing
of romance in the
soul of Peter Ber-
ry ; when he meets
a bear, it is not
the bear that does
the shooting ; and
when he catches
a salmon, Peter
Berry eats the fish ;
and as for leaping
horses across the
mighty canon, he
has not wasted his
time in that peril-
ous attempt, but at berry's
has sawed wood and hewed rocks and built the Grand View

A CONTINENTAL CHEF

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

Trail and made it
possible for trav-
elers to reach the
river at a point
where there is no
chance of anti-
climax, for this
trail winds down
into the depths of
the black archean
inner canon where
we may see the
river slowly carv-
ing out its path-
way in the resist-
ing but ever
vanquished
granite.

an olla found in a cave Dreaming of

the adventures of the morrow, we sleep that solid, health-
giving Arizona sleep ; and when we wake and look out from
our windows, there, swathed in the pink and violet vapors
of the morning, is the thing that has been with us in our
dreams. The Grand View Hotel is one of the few hotels in
the world that bear the title "Grand View " worthily.

But again I must deplore the pitiful inadequacy of the
picture-making art. It had been wiser, perhaps, for me
to nurse with selfish pleasure my memory of the Grand
Canon rather than to try to make you see in mere pictures
the biggest beautiful thing in all the world, the most entranc-
ing scene that ever dawned upon the eye of man. For such
it is, and such it will in future be proclaimed by all who look
upon it. If I excite your curiosity to see and know, I shall
have done enough.

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

This time there is no horror in the thought of plunging
into that great sea of beauty, and it is with an eagerness and
an enthusiasm that is unmixed with any fear or hesitancy
that we again push the noses of our horses into space and
begin the all-day journey toward the center of the earth.
From the very first we perceive that the trail makes no
reassuring pretense of gentle inclination ; at once in business-
like fashion it swings downward at most startling angles.

VISTA FROM THE GRAND VIEW HOTEL

The trail, although well constructed and perfectly safe,
is steep enough to be thrilling, nor does it lack short, slippery
turns with precipices underfoot and overhanging cliffs above.
There are enough of these to keep the senses tingling, and to
make the traveler feel as if the horse's reins were connected
with electric batteries, or as if his stomach were asleep.

Knowing the depths to which it must descend within so
limited a time, it wastes no precious minutes in seeking soft
declivities ; instead, it boldly bridges gaps and ravines, or

194

THE GRAND CANON OF .ARIZONA

A RESTING

imps from ledge to ledge, using long slender
logs as alpenstocks. The animals at
every step start little avalanches down
the path, and to the music of the
clattering stones we slide and glide
with many a sudden stop at corners
and many a pirouette at the extremi-
ties of every elbow of this zigzag chute.
But now and then the trail reposes for
a moment on a level ledge, and there
the traveler may rest, all save his eyes,
for not a moment's respite is granted to the
nerves that carry new and grand impressions from the optics
to the brain. We see in the course of our descent a replica
of almost every scenic marvel of the old world and the new
The gorges through which we rode in Corsica, Algeria, or
Southern France are reproduced by hundreds, in heroic
mold, yet they appear like tiny grooves, scarce worthy our
consideration. You have read of the Wonder City of
Algeria, Constan-
tine, throned on
its mighty citadel
of rock, a thou-
sand feet above
the Algerian pla-
teau. Here in
the canon there
are five hundred
imitations of the
rocky pedestal of
Constantine, and
beside any one of
them the African
original would at

AN EASY TURN

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

195

once seem a puny boulder. I could recite a catalogue of
other scenes that would here find their reproductions done
on a scale ten times more grand and more imposing. But
let us turn to architectural marvels. We have seen in
Greece and Italy and Sicily the splendid outdoor theaters
of the ancient Greeks and Romans, — theaters with marble
seats for forty thousand people. Ride with me around
yonder point and let me show you two natural theaters,
twin theaters, a thousand times more ancient than those
of Greece and Rome, ten thousand times more wonderful,
for they were carved by the blind forces of the
earth and not built up with hands; and though
,-„ 1 a conception of their magnitude cannot be
conveyed by photographs, the two
could offer seats to the entire

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

population of Chicago, and then there would be sufficient
room for half a million more of fashionable late-comers.
And as for the surroundings of America's antique temples

x*notograph copyright 1899, by H. G. Peabody, Boston

FROM THE GRAND SCENIC DIVIDE

of the drama, what can Greece, or Italy, or Sicily offer that
is grander and more beautiful than the world of wonder
that here spreads around ? Even the far-famed Tacrmina,
reputed the most lovely place in all the world, can offer to
the spectator in the ruined theater no more lovely vista than
that which greets us as we dizzily swing around yonder cliff
and pause again, not knowing whether to look up or down,
to right or left, for everywhere in earth and sky there is
a something that insistently demands our admiration.

Then, farther down, the trail itself again claims our
attention ; blase indeed the rider who can come coasting on a

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

197

slipping, struggling horse down the long unprotected chute,
without reviewing his past life and making New Year's reso-
lutions. Again the lens fails to convey an accurate impres-
sion ; the section of the trail is steeper than it looks. A
man on foot cannot walk down without digging his heels
deep into the loose earth and steadying himself by clinging to
the rocky walls; and to that wall all timid ones are glued by
the horror that rises from the fathomless depths into which a
false step, or the slipping of a bit of rock might drop the
trembling traveler. But we made no pictures here until we
reached this place next day during the slow ascent. While
coming down, the traveler is too busy making mental snap-
shots— he has no time to use the camera. Perhaps you

WALLS AND AMPHITHEATERS

198

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

think that I exaggerate the pitch of the path, the sheerness
of the precipice. If so, glance upward at the ladder down
which we and our struggling beasts have come. A diagonal
line marks the true pitch — 45 degrees ; there is no need to
tilt the camera to one side to make the picture more effec-
tive. Yet truth, both verbal and photographic, falls so far
short of giving to one who has not looked upon these scenes a
convincing image of the canon, that he who is to tell the story
can easily persuade himself that honesty is not the best policy,
that lies are not only pardonable but almost imperative.

By noon our caravan arrives at a crude stone house,
erected to shelter the men who formerly labored in Berry's
copper mines three thousand feet below
the rim. The mining industry has been
practiced even in the canon. In fact,
had it not been for the dis-
covery of this copper mine, the
trail would never have been
built. The mine has not ful-
filled its promise, the cost of
^ transportation be-

ing great ; but the
trail remains and
will in time become
a source of profit to

FROM THK (.RAM) VIEW TRAIL

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

199

its builders, when
the great tourist
army shall learn
of the new world
to conquer that
awaits them here.
At present, the
accommodation
in these depths is
not luxurious; yet
never did a palace
banquet, served
on golden plate,
taste half so good
as did the patent
soups and canned
meats that were
served in battered
tins on a pine ta-
ble, under ragged
awnings. We all agreed that among the few brief periods of
perfect happiness and contentment that come to a man in life,
we shall be compelled to number the minutes spent here in
satisfying the demands of our vigorous Arizona appetites.

The sleeping accommodations at the mine are not such as
appeal to those who are encumbered with fastidious ideas
concerning snowy linen. The one virtue of these beds, six
of which graced one room of the shanty, was that they were
well-aired; for they had been airing for at least three months,
ever since the passing of the last caravan of tourists. These
sleeping-machines were far less comfortable than the bare
ground on which we slept while at the foot of Hance's trail,
but having killed a rattlesnake not half-a-dozen rods away, we
found the exaggerated altitude of our hard couches reassuring.

STRETCH

200

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

During the afternoon we made a short excursion to the
caves, reached by descending a narrow trail cut in the rock-
face of the mesa, and entered by a flat low portal through
which our adventurous leader squeezed his way. Within,
guided by Peter Berry, we file along low narrow corridors,
creep on our hands and knees between half-opened jaws of
rock that threaten instantly to close upon us, and then sud-
denly we stumble into high-arched chambers almost ecclesi-
astical in architecture. Then, following another corridor,

we discover that
it ends abruptly
at a vertical wall ;
but the faint light
of the candles re-
veals a dangling
rope, and seizing
this we walk with
our bodies almost
horizontal up the
wall, cross to its
farther side, and
there descend by
means of the same
rope. We reach
at last a point at
least one thou-
sand feet from the
entrance, and we
there turn back,
having explored
but a fraction of
this natural laby-
rinth ; finally we
come in safety to

THE TRAIL AT FORTY-FIVE DEGREES

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

203

the outer world again. We cannot be resigned to wander-
ing in darkness, while above our heads there floats a world
of glory, and while below us yawn almost untraveled depths,
more somber, more inaccessible than those into which we
have already ventured. We are now about two thousand
feet below the miner's hut, about fifteen hundred feet

WRINKLED FACES IN THE ROCK

above the river level. The lower trail, by which we came,
is ruder, rougher, less secure than the upper, but equally
dramatic, and it offers even more thrills of horror to the
mile. The horses were abandoned at a point a few hun-
dred feet above this spot, for we are informed that the trail
thence to the river is possible only for men on foot.

204

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

Higher and higher the walls and buttes and pinnacles
have risen above us, until the walls of the great black gash
that marks the pathway of the river spread downward like
two world-wide shadows at our feet. Now, one by one the

A COPPER CAMP IN THE CANON

pinkish pinnacles, the rosy towers, and the dull red bastions
of the middle canon, seem to sink behind the darker lower
masses, leaving but one or two buttes standing like sentinels
to note our downward progress.

Let us creep out around the ledge of rock and peer into
that world of somber blackness. At last we see a canon that
agrees with our conception of the word. For until now we
have been haunted by the thought that this great outer chasm
is not a caiion, that it should have had another and a grander
name. The most sublime of canons that we hitherto have

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

205

seen is the many-hued, surpassingly brilliant Canon of the
Yellowstone, and it is one of the few things in nature that do
not suffer and shrink into utter commonplaceness when meas-
ured by the Arizona scenic standard. In size the Canon of
the Yellowstone is relatively petty. This repellent black trench
is deeper by several hundred feet, and it is many times as long
as its northern rival, yet it is only a mere incident in the
greater gulf around it ; it is but a comparatively unimportant
bit of detail still unfinished. It has a dignity and an impress-
iveness, and when we come to know it, a certain grim and
savage beauty, but it lacks the transcendent loveliness of the
delicately tinted Canon of the Yellowstone.

The Canon of the Yellowstone is to the Inner Gorge of
the Colorado what St. Mark's Basilica at Venice, with its
varied and gorgeous coloring, is to the great rock-temples of
the Nile, with their somber age-worn tones.

And, moreover, the Yellowstone is alive ; its waters, in-
stinct with life, leap mighty cataracts or gambol playfully in

rapids that are symphonies in
green and white ; while the
Colorado gorge seems to
be dead — its walls are
hung with black, and
its waters creep in
torpor, almost si-
lently save where
they surge and
rattle amid the
murderous rocks
as if in the agony
of death.

The waters of

the Colorado, when

they give voice, sing

CHICAGO PUSH

206

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

A CANON COT

from horror to horror, from the unknown

Their wonderful voyage was made in 1869.

been for three months in that underworld

from the far north, beyond the

place where the Grand River

and the Green unite to

form the Colorado; the /&

men are the first hu

man beings who

have ever dared to

venture into what

was then a world

as full of terror to

the moderns as the

antipodes were to

the men of medieval

times. The story

dirges; the waters
of the Yellow-
stone are chant-
ing a perpetual
joyous Hallelu-
jah. And as we
allow our glance
to roam hesitat-
ingly down this
dreary channel,
there creeps into
our minds a pict-
ure of four little
boats manned by
heroic men, being
swept onward by
the turgid tide

into the unknown.
The boats have

— they have come

THE SLEEPING-SHANTY

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

207

ENTERING THE CAVES

their voyage is certainly one of the most thrilling and heroic
chapters in the annals of American achievement.

The river channel had never been explored. The Indians
held that no boat could live in the mad grasp of the river,

that rapids everywhere beset the

^ path ; that cataracts high as

|[V Niagara hurled the brown

\ flood from one depth to
another ; that even if
the men should sur-
vive the sure annihi-
lation of the boats,
there was no path-
way to the world that
is above ; that should
they by long, superhu-
man effort climb to the
upper world, a boundless,
trackless, waterless expanse of
desert would greet them there. To drift for three long months
toward these unknown, but suspected dangers, called for the
same grim courage that inspired Christopher Columbus to sail
forth into the unknown. Yet for Columbus and his crew
retreat was always possible ; for these men there could be no
turning back. Uncertainty was on every hand, danger ahead,
starvation ever swimming close behind their boats.

Yet brave men were induced to embark upon this seemingly
hopeless enterprise by the braver man who led them. That
man, who dared this mad ride, who steered his fragile fleet to
victory through the dark canons of the Colorado for more than
a thousand miles, was Major John Wesley Powell, of the United
States Geological Survey, the hero of our Scientific Army.

The river in places is as calm and tranquil as a well-fed
lion, but farther on, where rocks rise to impede its progress,

208

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

it roars with anger, lashes itself into a fury, and woe betide
the helpless craft which then falls into its clutches and
becomes the victim of its rage ! Another danger threatens
the adventurous craft that trusts itself to the treacherous
Colorado. At any moment storms may burst upon the world
above — a vast quantity of water be flung into the canon by a
million rills, each adding to the flood its sudden offering,
receiving which the Colorado rises fifty feet in about as many
minutes. Yet Powell and his men faced all these dangers.
They boldly shot the lesser rapids, cautiously crept around
the greater, lowering their boats by means of ropes. One
boat was lost, with part of the provisions, the others were
frequently capsized, frequently threatened with destruction,

IN THE CAVES

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

209

UNDERGROUND EXPLORATIONS

forests beset with
fallen timber.
We recall the
warning of an In-
dian chief, who
said in striving
to dissuade us —
'Rocks, heap
high. Water-
pony, heap
jump. Wa-
ter catch

and we must not
forget that Pow-
ell, the leader of
this band of he-
roes had but one
arm with which
to fight his battle
with the waters.

As we stand on
the shore of the
great river that
was conquered by
Powell and his lit-
tle crew, let us
record his words
written in the
depths :

" Our boats go
leaping and jump-
ing over waves
like herds of deer
bounding through

OUT FROM THE UNDER-WORLD

2IO

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

em sure. No see 'em Injin any more. No see 'em squaw
any more. No see 'em papoose any more. ' Ever before us
is an unknown danger heavier than the immediate peril. We
camp by night on rocks where there is scarcely room for all
to lie, and the discomfort of the night is worse than the toil
of the day. Ever watching for rocks, ever listening for
obstacles, we are swept on, past cliffs where the soaring eagle
is lost to view ere he reaches the summit." Then, when
one boat containing part of the provisions breaks away while
being lowered by ropes over a roaring cataract, he writes,
"It now becomes a race for dinner."

We cannot blame the three men of that little band, who
faltered, finally forsook the expedition, and with their share

fHE EDGE OF THE GRANITE

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

213

Pnotograph copyright 1899, by H.G. Peabody, Boston

PALISADES

of the provisions started to climb out of the depths which
had inspired them with a fear that could not be suppressed.
We should not
call them cowards
— perhaps more
courage was re-
quired to scale
the then-trailless
cliffs and to face
the waterless and
boundless horror
of the desert up-
on the northern
brink than to re-
main with their
companions in
the boats to meet
the more familiar
horrors of cata-
racts and rapids.

214

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

The river had been merciful to Powell's band ; several times
it refused to take advantage of their helplessness, as they
drifted on with broken oars or capsized boats. The men
who trusted to the sullen torrent to deliver them were saved,
and lived to give to a wondering, admiring world the first
authentic knowledge of the canon ; the three who sought
their safety in a perilous ascent of their prison walls and
aimless wanderings on the plateau, met with a tragic death,
for they were killed by the doubting Indians to whom they
told the incredible story of their epic Odyssey.

Remembering this achievement of Major Powell, which in
dramatic interest is unsurpassed in the history of American

exploration, we marvel at the mis-
conceptions that prevail con-
cerning the Grand Canon.
Well-informed people tell
me they have ridden
through the Colorado
Canon while on a
raihvay train, con-
fusing this chasm
with a compara-
tively petty gorge
which lies in the
State of Colorado ;
others are not even
aware of the exist-
ence of this proud-
est of all our natural
possessions. Children
are taught the story of
the canon in the schools
of Germany and England,
while American men who

MAJOR POWELL'S PATHWAY

Photograph copyright 1899, by H. G. Peabody, Boston

A GRAND CANON THOROUGHFARE

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

217

Photograph copyright 1899, by H. G. Peabody, Boston

A SIDE CANON

edit journals, and
women who read
papers in their
clubs, ask where
the Co 1 orado
Canon is, and are
surprised to learn
that it is not in
Colorado but in
Arizona. Even
the old Spaniards
knew nearly as
much about it
three hundred
and fifty years
ago, as do Ameri-
cans to-day. A
company of the
conquistadors,
seeking the fabled

THE INNER GORGE OF THE COLORADO

218

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

Seven Cities of Cibola, was eventually led to the brink by
Moki guides and gazed upon this scene as long ago as
1540. This far-away region, whose existence is but now
beginning to be realized by us, was among the earliest por-
tions of America to be explored, and Spaniards sent to Spain
decriptions of this canon, comparing its pinnacles to the
Giralda Tower of Seville, eighty long years before the Pil-
grims landed. Two hundred years elapsed, and then a Span-
ish priest journeying from the Great Salt Lake reached the
canon in the very year that witnessed the declaration of

BLACK ROCKS AND YELLOW K A PIUS

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

219

American Independence. Nearly another hundred years
rolled by before our government attempted to probe into the
mystery of the canon country. In 1858 Lieutenant Ives
ascended the river from the Gulf of California in a flat-
bottomed steamer, but he did not pass the gateway that
guards the lower end of the Grand Canon proper. Twelve
years later, Powell, starting from the north, achieved his
memorable dash, and put to flight uncertainties and myster-
ies. Ten years later, Captain Dutton, a geologist who
should have been a man of letters, explored the great plateau
and the side gorges, and described his visions of the canon in
the language of a poet, delightfully refreshing in a Govern-
ment Report. To-day the ablest men of science are solving

THE ARCHEAN CHANNEL

220

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

one by one the mighty geologic problems here presented.
And meantime we Americans who pride ourselves upon our
knowledge of the Congo and the upper Nile, who read with
interest descriptions of Siberian deserts and New Zealand
fiords, are asking with languid curiosity: "Where is this
Canon of the Colorado ? What is it like ? ' '

And yet we who have visited it must perforce ask the
same question : What is it like ? That is the great question
to which no man can give the answer. It is like no other
thing in heaven or earth ; and yet within it are the likenesses
of many notable and famous things. Familiar mountains,
cliffs, and valle}^ are outlined here by hundreds. An army of
El Capitans, each one as stately as the rock of the Yosemite,

LACK PALISADES AND PINKISH PINNACLES

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

223

stand sentry-like on either side. A thousand miles of pali-
sades, surpassing those that look upon the lordly Hudson,
here serve to form a modest frieze along the rim. All the
chasms of the world are here in counterfeit, but they appear
like the merest corrugations, grooves, and crinkles. Niagara
could roar almost unheard in depths that are unseen. The

AT THE FOOT OK THK GRAND VIEW TRAIL

rivers of our continent could find an ample channel here, yet
leave above their united waters enough to make the canon
still the wonder of the earth. Within this gulf the ruins of
all man's masonry since Babel could be hurled, and yet these
Canon Pyramids whence forty centuries of centuries look
down would rise above the wreck of all the cities of all time !

224

THE GRAND CANON OF ARIZONA

But after all that can be said is said, one simple fact
stands forth, significant because of its simplicity. This realm
of wonder and of beauty, vast and intricate though it be, is
the result of simple causes. It is the natural slow creation
of the flowing waters which drop by drop have traversed it,
reduced its rocks to sand, and borne the sand grain by grain
to the distant all-embracing ocean, where even now the con-
tinents of some far future age are building.

-*I*V

'/,

OUT FROM THE CANON DEPTHS

I Mil I \h )M ! I'l I/.7/ OT ID/.OMTIA

APPROACH TO WALPI FROM THE EAST

(PHOTOGRAPH BY SUMNER W. MATTESON, DENVER)

MOKI LAND

Land

MOKI LAND in Arizona is the home of the strangest of
our fellow-countrymen. Mold Land is unique ; it is a
changeless corner in our land of perpetual change. The
Mokis are a pueblo people, differing from other tribes of the
southwest in language, customs, and religion. They dwell in
seven villages, each set like an acropolis upon a barren rock,
high above the barren, boundless sands of the Arizona desert.
How long they have lived there in the sunshine, no man
knows. The Spaniards found them there in i 541 , living and

228

MOKI LAND

praying and performing their religious ceremonies, just as
they had lived and prayed and worshiped for uncounted
centuries. The conquistadors, seeking only gold and treas-
ure, passed them by, leaving them secure in their unconscious
poverty and in their utter isolation. To-day we find them
as they were — their pagan civilization still intact. To-
morrow we may look for it in vain, for the white man presses
closer every year. If we would see these people still domi-
nated by their immemorial traditions, we must not delay.
Moki Land offers us a fascinating picture of primitive Amer-
ica— a picture that will soon fade in the growing light of our
civilization. Let us draw aside the protecting curtain of dis-
tance and look upon this unique picture before it is too late.
The desert trail that leads to Moki Land touches civiliza-
tion at a point called Canon Diablo, about half-way across
the territory of Arizona, on the main line of the Santa Fe.
This station is not far from Flagstaff, the starting-point for
the Grand Canon of the Colorado. But at Canon Diablo
station we see no town, nor a canon, nor even a devil
to enliven the melancholy desert wastes. The town has not
been built, the canon although not far away is invisible,
and the devil prefers to stay in his old home where it is

MOKI LAND

231

AT VOLZ'S STOR
Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

probably cooler and more cheerful.
This desert is made especially
melancholy by the scattering
evidences of civilization,
— freight-cars, signal-
posts, telegraph-poles,
and signboards. It is
not a sandy desert. It
is of rock so firm that
poles cannot be planted
but must be held erect
by pyramids of broken
rock piled up around their
bases. The only house in
town besides the station is the
store of Volz, the Indian trader,
where we disconsolately discuss the assured discomforts of the
trip while awaiting the departure of our caravan. Volz, the
trader, has volunteered to be our guide, and has contracted
to provide vehicles and horses to transport us to the Moki
Reservation about seventy miles away ; to feed us on the

Photograph by H. C. V

EN ROUTE TO MOKI LAND

best canned goods that ever come to Arizona ; to see that we
do not lack water more than twelve hours at a stretch ; to
show us the Snake Dance, give a Navajo Tournament in our

232

MOKI LAND

honor, and bring us safely back to the railway, all within
the incredibly short space of eleven days.

The prospect is alluring ; the caravan is ready ; let us
set out across the almost trackless desert. Our guide has
promised much, but the one thing that he failed to mention
we find the most inspiring thing of all ; the sense of freedom,
the exhilaration of this boundless region. It has been said
that it is impossible to despair on horseback. This is more
than ever true in Arizona, where the air, the light, the clear,
sharp distances, and the level, limitless desert form an
environment that uplifts the senses and makes for perfect
happiness. Let those who choose to do so follow in the lazy
wagons, carryalls, and buggies ; as for us, we are content
only so long as
the smooth un-
counted miles are
flying beneath our
horses' willing
feet.

The desert is
a boundless bridle
path, level and
to all appearances
secure ; yet there
are pitfalls rang-
ing in size from
the burrows of
prairie-dogs to
the long cracks
made by earth-
quakes.

The first in-
cident of the des-
ert journey is the

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

AN EARTHQUAKE CRACK

MOKI LAND

233

fording of the Little Colorado, a shallow, muddy stream as
commonplace as a mere ditch ; yet this same river only fifty
miles farther on has cut for itself a canon of tremendous depth.
When it meets the greater Colorado at the eastern end of

CROSSING THE LITTLE COLORADO

the Grand Canon, the walls that rise from the bed of the

lesser river meet the walls of the Grand Canon, as equals in

height and sheerness. The lesser and the greater Colorado

meet in one of the most impressive amphitheaters in the

world, but so remote and difficult

of access is the place, that

a daring few have looked

upon the scene toward

which these swift and

silent waters are now

gliding.

At noon we halt for
luncheon ; but luncheon
is too elegant a term,
even lunch smacks too
much of civilization ; th
proper word in Arizona

A SHADY NOOK

234

MOKI LAND

lunch is "grub. " Almost everything one eats comes in a tin
can or tin box ; beans, milk, and meat, sardines, preserves,
and jams, — all are imported in hermetically sealed tins. Thus
canned goods form a most important item in the commerce of
the territory, where they are known by the comprehensive
name "air-tights." We breakfast, dine, and sup on air-
tights, and before every meal all hands are set to work with
old knives and scissors, for the rare can-opener is usually miss-
ing ; and by the time that the air-tights have ceased to de-
serve the title, the workers have in the effort of opening them
already developed appetites ravenous to such a degree that
no time is wasted in vain longings for fresh fare. A heap of
empty tins marks every halting-place of every caravan ; while
near the site of every camp are left mountains of gaping cans.
As the Professor from Berlin remarked one day after lunch,
in his staid, scientific tone, "It is my conviction that in a
future age the geologists will be confronted by a novel prob-
lem ; for Arizona will be found covered with a stratum of
tin as extensive as the borders of the territory."

We spend the night at a second store belonging to our
trader-guide about thirty miles from the railway. Mr. Volz

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

DISCUSSING " ARIZPNA AIR-TIGHTS '*

MOKI LAND

235

controls three of these establishments, one at the Canon
Diablo station ; another at a place called by courtesy "The
Lakes, ' ' because when it rains, water stands in the broad
hollows that surround this emi- p
nence ; and a third store within

THE STORE AT THE LAKES

a few miles of Oraibi, the
largest of the Moki villages,
which is to be our headquarters when we reach the reserva-
tion. We are now in the land
roamed over by the Navajos,
with whom the trad
does a thriving busi-
ness ; for his long
shed is both a sta-
ble and a shop
stocked with the
things in which
the red man de-
lights — tobacco,
matches, pots,
pans, hardware,
and army blankets.
We never weary of

NAVAJO CUSTOMERS

236

MOKI LAND

ARLY START

watching the transactions. A big brave enters and calls for
one pound of soda-crackers. These are weighed out, he
wraps them in his blanket, then takes off his belt, and from
it pays out — not coins, but — seven cartridges, .44 caliber;
and these the clerk sweeps into the cash-drawer without a
sign of surprise. Then the same Indian orders another
pound of crackers, and pays for them in the
same manner as before. He wanted
two pounds all the time. But he knows
that seven cartridges will buy one
pound, and he does not care to
venture into deep commercial
complications. After busi-
ness hours the store becomes
our dormitory ; four men
sleep on the counter, two
under it, the rest on the floor.
We each have new Navajo
blankets to use for our bedding ;

A DESERT DERELICT

MOKI LAND

237

the ladies of our party sleep in a storeroom with a hundred
brilliant blankets piled under and around them.

At sunrise the caravan is once more under way, the
wagons crawling northward at a tiresome pace, the horsemen
galloping ahead, glorying in the splendor of the morning — a
morning wider than the world and higher than the sky. We
cannot understand how age and misery can afflict humanity

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

BUTTES AND MESAS IN THE ARIZONA DESERT

238

MOKI LAND

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

BURRO SPRING

in an atmosphere like this ; we almost feel as if the poor, old
Navajo grandmother who comes begging to the store were
only feigning decrepitude and poverty. We look for her to
toss away her brown rags and gray wig, and to stand forth

in the sunshine ra-
diant in youth and
beauty, like the fairy
queens seen in pan-
tomimes. We are so
light-hearted, filled
with the joy of living,
that we cannot for-
give this old hag for
reminding us that in
this world there are
many blind souls who
see no beauty in the
earth and sky, who are incapable of happiness. Yet we give
her money, for we feel that we owe somebody something be-
cause we are not mis-
erable ; for is there
not much truth in
that dictum of the
cynic who defined
"charity" as the
"unconscious ex-
pression of subcon-
scious fear ' ' ? You
may smile at this
definition if you will,
but there is some- oraibi mesa from volz's camp

thing fearfully incisive about it — "the unconscious expres-
sion of subconscious fear. ' ' But away with the old witch
who has haunted us ! It is as easy to lose a gloomy thought

MOKI LAND

239

in Arizona as it is to breathe life-giving air ; and while our
horses gallop on across these endless stretches of sage and
sand, the eye gallops around the huge ring of the horizon,
which now and then is broken by a butte or a mesa, a wall of
sandstone red as brick, regular as a factory facade, wide as a
township, high as the Alhambra of a race of giants. Now
and then we skirt ephemeral lakes, born of a sudden deluge.
On our return journey we came at nightfall to the shores of a
lake five miles wide, which lay directly across the trail that
we had traversed in dusty dryness only eight days before.
We made a detour of fifteen miles to get around that lake,
and had we not sent back at night to warn a following party,

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

OUR MIDDAY " MESA

240

MOKI LAND

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

SOLID COMKORT

they in attempting to keep to the old trail would have floun-
dered all night in the shallow sea which had dropped from the
clouds in a single day.

Late in the afternoon of our second day in the desert, we
came to Volz's third establishment, the business center of the
Moki Reservation. First we shake off the dust of our long

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

"WE ourselves" at volz's stori

MOKI LAND

241

two days' ride, then at a table on an improvised veranda we
attack a few dozen tins of air-tights and drink a pail or two
of coffee. The amount of coffee that one can consume in
Arizona is incredible ; it is poured out in bowls, served piping
hot, black and without milk. We average two bowls at
every meal and sleep like tops. Some of us sleep in tents,
others in one of the shanties. We lie in blankets on the

THE SHOPPING CENTER

bare ground, cases of canned provisions and bales of goods
piled high all around us. There are ants in the sand, and we
know that rattlesnakes abound, but we are reassured by the
knowledge that for four days the Mokis from Oraibi have
been scouring the desert collecting rattlers for the Snake
Dance ceremony which we have come to witness.

The ladies of our party have more luxurious accommoda-
tions. They use as berths the counters and shelves in the
adjoining store ; but this arrangement has its disadvantages,

242

MOKI LAND

for they are early routed out because the Indians go shopping
shortly after sunrise, and gather in impatient groups on find-
ing that the shutters of this popular emporium have not been
taken down at the usual hour for beginning the business of
the day. This counter is the shopping center of all Moki
Land. The idea seems preposterous, yet Trader Volz
handles every month ten thousand dollars' worth of goods.
One of the first arrivals at our camp is a young Moki,
who wrears a gorgeous shirt of multi-colored calico, a shock
of jet-black hair, and a splendid set of teeth framed by a
smile of wide dimensions. He is an old friend of the trader,
and is frequently employed as a guide to lead the way along
the indistinct old trails that lead across the corn-fields to the
distant mesas and then wind up the steep, rough slopes to
villages set upon the rocky summits. Corn is the staple prod-
uct of the Moki farmer. The corn-fields of the Mokis are to
them the most important thing on earth, the object of their
thoughts and prayers. They tell us that this year the crop
is sure to be a record-breaker, and they point with great
pride to their wide and prosperous fields. The aspect of a

thriving Moki corn-field
would hardly please a

THE ONLY SHIRT-WAIST MAN "

IN MOKI LAND

MOKI LAND

243

OUR GUID

Kansas farmer, but to the Moki
it is full of promise. He
sees in it the assurance
that his village garners
will be well filled, that
plenty will reign dur-
ing the winter on the
mesa-tops, and he
thanks the spirits of
the clouds and of the
springs for sending a
sufficient supply of wa-
ter to make possible so
endid a result. And his
in the all-powerful be-
ings that rule the clouds and
control the rivers and the springs is deepened, and he is
more than ever convinced of the efficacy of the Moki invo-
cations, all of which are intended to propitiate the gods and

A THRIVING CORN-MELD

244

MOKI LAND

■'■&§!*%&

spirits and thus insure
abundant water from both
earth and sky. The Mo-
lds, when they came to
this region at some un-
dated day in the dim past,
brought with them corn
and beans, squashes, mel-
ons, and cotton. We see
the squash- and melon-
vines crawling about the
corn-fields like long green
snakes with yellow eyes. Then later, within historic times,
wheat, apricots, and peaches were added to their meager list.
There are so-called peach-orchards which produce enough
small peaches to supply the tribe with its favorite luxury,
and leave a little over to be sold to Navajos, or traded for
goods at Volz's store. But the farmer's life is one of great

A MOKI FARMER

)RN, MELONS, AND SQUASHES

MOKI LAND

245

■ '..:" ' ;."'" *

,^*««

*u ^^^m

;gl

-~".

■

., ^ / >

■

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

A "PEACH ORCHARD

uncertainties. The rains, in spite of priestly incantations,
sometimes come before they are wanted, or after the need of
them has passed, or they come in storm and fury, flood the
" washes ' ' and wipe out of existence a corn-field or an orchard,
leaving in its place a muddy void.
Even more to be feared are
the wind-storms which
literally blow away
the farms, carrying
the surface soil
across the desert
and depositing it
where no culti-
vation had been
possible hither-
to. Thus, farm-
ing becomes liter-
ally a pursuit —
the farmer pur-
suing his shifting

COTTONWOODS

246

MOKI LAND

farm from place to place. Imagine the complications that
ensue when one farm is deposited immediately on top of
another by the mischievous winds !

Leaving the fields behind us we gallop on for miles across
the desert, a barren, yellow, world-wide avenue from which
the distant mesas rise like heaps of giant paving-stones.
Here and there a leafy cottonwood affords a grateful shelter
from the fierce rays of an August sun. A few drought-defy-
ing plants appear, peeping timidly from the sands, but we
know that dormant seeds are everywhere, needing but the
moist kiss of the infrequent storm to wake them into life.

When the storm-king has swept in furious dark majesty
across the places that were waste, green things, lie thick in
his wake as if a rain of emeralds had fallen. Dry desert beds
are sometimes quickly filled with seas of sunflowers.

But to-day the only sign of life encountered is in the form
of a pair of youthful aborigines, sitting upon the hurricane-

'I WO GENTLEMEN OF WAL.PI

MOKI LAND

247

decks of two " ships of the Ari-
zona desert," — a pair of
desert donkeys. One of
the donkeys wears a
most dejected mien,
because, as we ob-
serve, he bears the
mark of shame.
His fine long ear
is clipped in token
that his reputation
is not good. For
every ass who surrep-
titiously eats any of the
precious corn that grows
in the scant Moki fields must
suffer partial amputation of his
auricular. The law demands with absolute literalness an ear
for an ear : an ear of the ass for an ear of the corn. The
soul of the second donkey must be as white as the snowy hide
of his companion, for he rejoices in a pair of perfect ears,
the rarest of possessions for a Moki quadruped. But as we
follow others up the mesa-trail, we suspect that perhaps he
is one of those wise beings who keep that all-important
Eleventh Commandment, "Thou shalt not be found out."
He is either saint or hypocrite, for every other donkey in
the land betrays himself, when, like the leader of this team,
he outlines an ear against the sky.

Meantime our guide rides on ahead. Presently he draws
rein, and pointing to the summit of the mesa exclaims,
"There, Walpi. " Yes, but where is the town of Walpi ?
We know it stands upon this sandstone mesa — but we are
not yet able to distinguish it. The steep slope terminates in
what appears to be a mass of titanic blocks of stone

248

MOKI LAND

resembling a natural citadel. Perhaps the town lies on the
other side. But no, the guide insists that we are very near ;
and when a moment later our horses stumble round another
angle of the trail, the cyclopean citadel resolves itself into a
Moki village. What seemed gigantic cubes of stone are
small pueblo dwellings. Walpi, which from below was indis-
tinguishable, reveals itself as a place of human habitation
only to those who scale the cliffs. A caravan of wanderers
lost in the desert, dying of thirst, might skirt the bases of
these Moki mesas and gaze squarely up at these high-perched
dwellings without divining that just overhead men who would
give aid and succor lived in populous towns where plenty of
food and water and many comforts could be found.

A PUEBLO CITADhL

MOKI LAND

251

And this town of Walpi on the east mesa, like the six
other Moki towns, is the abode of full-fledged citizens of the
United States, men who possess the right to vote, but who
have never deigned to exercise their franchise ; nor in truth
have they been urged to do so. They were made citizens
by the treaty with Mexico, when this territory became a part
of the United States after the war of 1845.

The Mokis are good citizens. It has been said, I know,
that the only good Indian is a dead Indian. In fact, the
name "Moki," which we now erroneously apply to this
little nation, means literally "dead people," and was origi-
nally a term of derision given by the warlike Apaches and
Navajos to these peaceful farmers and home-builders. Ask
one of the boys whom we find playing in the Plaza of Walpi
what he is, and he will say that he belongs to the "Hopi, "
or ' ' good peo-
ple, " for Hopi is
the original name
by which these
P ueblo-builders
call themselves,
although the term
" Moki, " once an
insult, has almost
lost its derisive
meaning and is
not seriously re-
sented.

This plaza,
now deserted ex-
cept for a few idle
boys, becomes
every second year
the theater of the

:3§^»^W£2Mz

ON THE WALPI TRAIL

252

MOKI LAND

famous Snake Dance ceremony. The sacred Dance Rock
rises on the left ; the entrance to one of the sacred
chambers, where the secret ceremonies are performed, is at
our feet. But to-day the town appears deserted. Another

Photograph by Sumber W. Matteson

AN ARIZONA ACROPOLIS

village will this year celebrate the Snake Dance. Walpi is
as quiet as Oberammergau during the off-years between the
presentations of the Passion Play. We shall see it under a
different aspect when we return to witness the Snake Dance
of 1899, to which we are invited by the great man of the
village, Kopele, the chief priest of the Snake Fraternity, the
leader of the dance in preceding presentations.

Kopele did not live to greet us when we returned to his
pueblo one year later. In him the Hopi lost one whom they
called a "jbas loloma taka," an " excellent man, " whose

MOKI LAND

253

heart was good and whose speech was straight. Among the
whites he was liked and respected as a gentle, courageous,
and, as he looked at things, a deeply religious man.

After exploring his village, driving timid children into
houses and up to roof-terraces, we set out for the middle
mesa. On the descending trail we meet what at first sight
appears to be an animated cottonwood. Our horses shy as
the big leafy mass comes staggering up the slope, but as it
passes we see that the tree-trunk is made of two brown
Hopi legs, and from the moving bower comes this Hopi

Photograph by Sumner W Matteson

WALPI FROM BELOW
SHOWING A MELON-VINE ANCHORED WITH A STONE AND A PEACH-TREE STANDING ON TIP-TOE

greeting: " Um ha kamii." The man is bringing leafy
boughs for use in one of the approaching ceremonies.

Farther on we meet a successful rabbit-hunter, who has
bagged his game after the Hopi fashion, killing it by a clever

254

MOKI LAND

THE WALPI DANCE ROCK

throw of a sort of boomerang, in the use of which these
people, owing to constant practice, are most skilful.

A dash across the desert brings us to the base of the mid-
dle mesa, around which we toil over rough ground, seeking
a trail by which we may ascend. Secure, indeed, were the
sites selected by the "good people" for their villages when
they fled from the roving Apaches, the Bedouins of the
desert, and set their houses on the rocky slopes. Then, in
the sixteenth century, strange white men clad in armor came
from the distant south. They were the Spanish conquista-
dors, sent by Coronado to seek the Seven Cities of Cibola,
thought to be rich in treasure. They found these pueblo

MOKI LAND

255

towns upon the mesas. They tried to enter ; Moki priests
protested and with sacred meal drew a line across the path.
The Spaniards then bombarded with blunderbuss and bowgun,
killing several Mokis. Next day the frightened mesa folk
brought down gifts, welcomed the masterful strangers, and
consented to build a church. The conquerors passed on,
leaving a few priests to rule the Hopi villages. The people
did not object to Christianity until the priests declared that
all the gods of the Hopi were evil gods. This blasphemy
roused the peaceful people, and they threw the "long

Pnotograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

HOPI ARCHITECTURE

gowns, " as they called the friars, over the edge of the mesa,
destroyed the church, moved their villages to securer heights
upon the mesa tops, and when another Spanish expedition
came, they attempted to defy the power of the white man.

256

MOKI LAND

KOPEI.E OF WALP
Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

In time these people became nomi-
nal subjects of the crown oi
Spain, then citizens of the
Republic of Mexico, and
finally citizens of the
United States. But
meantime they have
continued to live their
own lives in their own
peculiar way, to wor-
ship strange gods and
spirits, and to per-
form various rites, the
meaning of which is
now almost forgotten.
When pressed for expla-
nation, they reply, c< We
ake our altars, sing our
s, and say our prayers in
this way because our old people did
so ; and surely they knew how to make rain fall and corn grow.

Doubtless the Moki girls looked down upon the Spaniards
with the same air of timid daring they exhibit to-day as we
approach the village. If we are to credit the Spanish chron-
iclers, the Moki maiden then wore her hair in the same
fantastic form, and clad herself in the quaint, picturesque
garments of which those of to-day are perfect counterparts.
Only the decrepit old men are found at home by day ;
the active male population is in the distant fields guarding
the corn, the melons, and the beans, leaving the village in
possession of the aged, the women, and the children. At
our first approach the children fled like a lot of prairie-dogs,
popping into the underground rooms, or kivas, dashing
through low doorways into cube-like dwellings, or running up

MOKI LAND

257

"BOOMERANGED RABBI
Photograph by Sumner W. Matt

the ladders to the housetops. There
they are free to wander all over town,
eaving to us the empty streets and
deserted plazas. A pueblo vil-
lage is practically one structure.
The streets and alleyways are
roofed with rooms ; the en-
trance to one house is often
found upon the roof of the
dwelling of a neighbor. There
are ladders and stone stairways
everywhere, and these are used
more generally than the streets
and squares below. This village
is called Mishongnovi. In the dis-
tance looms a higher village which is
called Shipaulovi, "the Place of the Peaches." A third
village on this mesa bears the name of Shungopavi.

The people of each village are divided into many clans,
and each clan is regarded as a family. Its members may not

ROCK PICTURE OF A RABBIT HUNT

258

MOKI LAND

intermarry ; they
must wed the sons
and daughters of
some other clan.
There are seven
villages in all.
The natives num-
ber about twenty-
live hundred, of
whom eight hun-
dred live in Orai-
bi, which is the
largest of the vil-
lages. Evidently
the population is

A TRYING TRAIL

NATURE'S ARCHITECTURE

increasing, for as
soon as we pro-
duce big bags of
colored candies
and begin a dis-
tribution,- young
Hopi hopefuls be-
gin to spring up
like desert weeds
under the influ-
ence of a sudden
deluge. A few
minutes of this
bombardment of
bonbons, and all

MOKI LAND

261

timidity is banished. We are accepted as ''good people, "
and the entire village is ours to explore, to ransack, and to
photograph. First the young girls who ran away like startled
deer at sight of the strange visitors, gather in hesitating
groups and do their best to "look pleasant."

APPROACH TO THE MIDDLE MESA

We notice that the dress of the girls and old women is
identical : a heavy blanket-like robe, the black body sepa-
rated from the dark blue border by stripes of brilliant green.
Around the waist is worn a woven sash. All these things are
of domestic manufacture ; in fact, the men do all the dress-
making,— the husband always weaving the wedding garment
for the bride, — but weaving it so well that it will last the wife

262

MOKI LAND

a lifetime, and then possibly serve a daughter until marriage.
The shawls of brilliant calico, however, are purchased from
the trader. The most striking feature in the make-up of the

Photograph by H. C. Vronr.an, Pasadena

HOPI FLATS

Hopi girl is her coiffure, unique among the world's hair-
dressing schemes. Fantastic as it appears when built up
with the black hair of the brown brunettes, its queerness is
intensified when it is formed of the snowy tresses of the pale
Albino maidens. There is something uncanny about the
three or four pale-faced, white-haired, and pink-eyed creat-
ures who haunt these towns like Hopi ghosts, doubly con-
spicuous in this black-haired, dark-eyed population. The
younger girls and also many of the men wear their hair cut

MOKI LAND

263

in the fashion of the medieval Florentines, — a heavy bang
on the brow, and a curtain of black tresses covering the ears
and neck. The jewelry worn by the Hopi folk is marvelous ;
silver beads and pendants purchased from the Navajos,
strings of shells with bits of common turquoise interspersed,
earrings of silver inlaid with turquoise, and silver rings and
bracelets chiseled with strange Navajo designs. But all the
brilliant trappings of the Hopi debutante cannot distract our
attention from her crowning glory. We never cease to

HOPI HOPEFULS

264

MOKI LAND

marvel at the abun-
dance and the jet-
black splendor of her
hair. We ask if, like
the Japanese, these
girls are forced when
sleeping to rest the
neck on wooden pil-
lows to prevent a dis-
arrangement of the

elaborate coiffure ; but we are told
that it is combed out every night
and freshly built up every morning,
with the assistance of a mother or
a friend. We wonder if this fash-
ion will ever reach the cities of the
States. Here is a hint for women
who are seeking something new.

is by Sumner W. Matteson
KIDS

MOKI LAND

26;

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

CANDY HAS COME

hair done up in
proper Hopi style.
An educated Hopi
named Luke is
with them who,
nevertheless, be-
ing a member of
the Snake Frater-
nity, will later ap-
pear in the bar-
baric attire of a
Hopi priest, and
chant the mean-
ingless songs of
the ancients, and
carry rattlesnakes

Unfortunately
I cannot tell you
how the trick is
done, but pos-
sibly the two
American ladies
at one of the
missions on the
reservation can
enlighten you.
I know they are
in possession of
the secret, for
we found them
one day togged
out in full Hopi
ceremonial cos-
tume, with their

THE PASSING STRANGER

266

MOKI LAND

between his teeth. Tradition rules this
people. The Hopi will admit that the
things we try to teach him are
"good medicine," but he re-
mains a Snake Man still, and
follows faithfully the teachin
of his tribe. After marriage the
women uncoil those flaring ears
of hair and let two tresses dan-
gle ; the young girls wear the
hair done up, older women let
it hang, just the reverse
to our familiar custom.
The babies of Moki

Photograph by H. C. Yroman, Pasadena

HOW THE HOPI MAIDEN'S HAIR IS DRESSED

Land lead a happy life.
Water is so precious here that none is wasted in those
unnecessary and annoying scrubbings. The tub has no ter-
rors for the urchins of these towns. They bathe only in the
clear dry air, wash their faces in sunshine, comb their hair
with the sharp wind from the desert, and are as healthy as
the children of the poor in any land. They are wonderfully
self-reliant. The town is an intricate apartment-house with
steep stairways and tall crude ladders as the only means of
communication between floor and floor. But babies
that can barely creep on level
ground develop at a very early
age a daring familiarity with
the ups and downs of life.
Bronze babies are found
everywhere. Some
one has called them
' * Fried Cupids, ' ' and
as in other lands these
cupids rule the house.

Photograph by H. C. Vrotnan, Pasadena

THE HAIK-DRESSING CONTINUED

MOKI LAND

267

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena
THE HAIR-DRESSING CONTINUED

The Hopi home is not at all unhomelike. The
houses are well built of stone,
with neatly plastered walls,
thick sun-defying roofs of
mud, and many doors
and windows which ad-
mit fresh air and sun-
shine. Cooking is done
in fireplaces not unlike
our own, and the smoke
is carried off through
chimneys most ingen-
iously contrived. To
make a Moki chim-
ney, take a lot of di-
lapidated water-jars, knock out the bottoms, plaster up the
cracks, and pile them jar on jar until the chimney is of suffi-
cient height, and then build the house around the chimney.
The English idea of the ' ' chimney-pot ' ' is not a new one
to the Indian. Interiors are usually very clean and tidy, the
walls and floors are frequently plastered with clay ; a ledge
runs around each room, affording sitting space for many
guests ; long poles are hung with brilliant blankets made by
the neighboring Navajos, and
high shelves are loaded with
quaint pottery. In a corner
are the inclined stones
where women sit to grind
the corn, and overhead is
the well-constructed roof
of beams and thatch,
porting a layer of
sun-baked mud. A
peep into another

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

THE HAIR-DRESSING COMPLETED

268

MOKI LAND

MOKI LAND COIFFURES

room reveals a brave array
of melons and of decorated
bowls heaped high with white
corn-meal. Saddles, bridles,
and a sombrero, tell that the
master owns a pony, while
a decaying grip-sack tells of
a journey made once upon a
time. Above our heads is
a feather dangling from a
string. This is the soul of
the house ; no dwelling is
without it.

The Moki house is always
the property of the wife ; she
has the right to order her

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

won't wear even beads

MOKI LAND

269

lord and master out of doors if he does not
behave himself, but this she rarely does.

The Hopi are indeed "good people " ;
they do not gamble, and, strange to say,
they do not drink. They scarcely know
the taste of fire-water, and the conscien-
tious trader is determined that they shall
not know the red man's curse. The
men are usually industrious, spending
much time in the fields, planting, ,j

building dikes, digging ditches.
Weaving is about their only
indoor occupation. All house-

"and the mother and the child were there"

hold duties are per-
formed by the women,
and the Moki woman's
hardest task is to carry
water from the spring
some five hundred feet
below, near the rocky
foundation of the mesa.
These springs yield the
water sparingly drop by
drop, and in the dryer
season the part of Re-
becca at the well is one
to try the patience even
of the unhurried Moki

washed in sunshine only

2/0

MOKI LAND

271

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

TOKENS OF PROSPERITY

matron. Her lightest task is chewing the yeast for fermenting
the batter to make the Moki's favorite dish — corn-pudding.

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

AT THE DAILY GRIND

272

MOKI LAND

We declined all invitations to dine out, though we did taste the
Moki bread, called "fti/ci," which looks like lavender tissue-
paper ; it is made from purple corn, ground and mixed with
water, and cooked into crisp sheets on hot, flat stones. We
find in nearly every house a number of the curious dolls
called " katcinas." These figures represent certain mythic

CORN-MEAL AND MELONS

deities of the Hopi pantheon. They are given to the chil-
dren as an object-lesson in their intricate religion, to teach
the little ones to know their gods by sight. At certain
seasons festivals in honor of these gods are held, and full-
grown men dressed to resemble these strange beings appear
upon the streets wearing fantastic masks.

MOKI LAND

273

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Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

HOPI HYDRAU

We learned of many
a missionary at
Oraibi, a German
gentleman repre-
senting the Rus-
sian Mennonite
Society. During
the five years of
his stay his mis-
sion -house was
made a veritable
museum of curi-
ous Hopi para-
phernalia. Each
year he added to
it some priceless
bowl, or talisman,
or mask, some
sacred wand, or
a quaint katcina
doll, until this
wonderful collec-
tion could not be
left any longer in

Moki Land also
boasts of many
other ceremonies
that are unique
and beautiful and
thrilling, but little
is said of these be-
cause of the sen-
sational import of

Ics the Snake Dance.

interesting, unfamiliar things from

Photograph by Sumner \V
WATER JARS AWAITING A SUPPLY OF WATER SUFFICIENT TO FILL THEM

2 7J

MOKI LAND

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

BAKING PIKI BREAD

the far-away Arizona desert, never seen save by the infre-
quent tourist. Thanks to the generosity of a young million-
aire, these invaluable illustrations of the Hopi rites and social
customs have been transferred to the Field Columbian
Museum, in Chicago, where to-day the student may find an
epitome of Hopi life. In addition to the Mennonite and
several other missions there is a gov-
ernment school at the foot of
every mesa. School does not
keep in summer, but we
camped in a school-house
during our visit to the
middle mesa, and ate the
two poor teachers out of
house and home. They
told us that the opening
exercises during school-terms

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

THE DAUGHTER OF THE HOUSE

MOKI LAND

275

consisted in a detailed scrubbing
infant class with government soap
the springs. The Hopi look upon
proof that white people are insane,
ridiculous than their invocations to
seem to us. We did not have an
results of government instruction,
not become fixed, and I doubt if

of every member of the
and precious water from
this wasteful ceremony as

It is to them far more
the gods for rain can ever
opportunity to study the

The bathing habit does
the a, b, c, or even the

THE REV. MR. VOTH'S COLLECTION AT THE MISSION

276

MOKI LAND

multiplication-table takes deeper
root. How can they, when
the teachers sent to train
the infant Indians are not
obliged to learn the
language of the peo-
ple ? What progress
is possible with the
barrier of language
between pupil and
preceptor ?

The Snake Dance of
898 was performed in
August at Oraibi. Though
Oraibi is the largest town of
photograph by sumner w.Matteson^" Moki Land, it is at the same time

the one least in touch with the white man's civilization.
Walpi has long been accustomed to the visits of strangers

MOKI SPOONING
LOVER BUSY KNITTING
HIS INAMORATA HOLDING HIS FOOT

Photograph by H. C

A GOVERNMENT SCHOOL

MOKI LAND

277

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson
BRUSHING BROTHERS HAIR

from the States, while the Oraibi dance has
never before attracted much attention. In
1898, however, at least forty white
visitors toiled up the trail and roamed
through the broad streets of the big vil-
lage, peeping into Hopi houses, fright-
ening the timid children, and
affording a new subject of
conversation for the elders,
who rarely see a
white stranger.
Subjects of con-
versation, by the
way, are few in
Moki Land ; but
never-failing topics are the
lack of water, the condition
of the springs, and the possibility of a copious downpour in
response to the invocations of the priests. The one thought
uppermost in Hopi minds is how to
bring the rains down from the passing
clouds upon the thirsty fields and into
their empty reservoirs and cisterns.
The whole complicated symbolism of
their religion illustrates this never ab-
sent aspiration. The ceremonies we
are soon to witness, however vague
their meaning may appear, are all per-
formed by a believing people to the
end that springs may flow abundantly,
that copious rains may fall, and that
bounteous crops of corn and beans
and melons may grow up out of the
desert sands.

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

QUEN-CHOW-A

278

MOKI LAND

RIDING TO ORAIBI

their respective kivas, chanting old
songs, the meanings of which
were long ago forgotten. Should
we venture into those dark ref-
uges and look upon forbidden
things, we should, according to
the Hopi belief, swell up and
burst instantly. But in spite
of this awful danger, many of
these secret rites, so long and
tedious, have been very carefully
studied by American ethnologists,
some of whom have been made mem
bers of the societies, and admitted to

For nine days
the village has
been wrapped in
mystery. Meet-
ings of immemo-
rial societies have
been held in the
chambers under-
ground, called
"kivas, " the en-
trances to which
are accented by
projecting ladder-
poles. The An-
telope and Snake
societies sit in sol-
emn conclave in

Photograph by Sumner W Matteson

DRAWING WATER FROM A CISTERN

MOKI LAND

281

the most solemn and utterly unspeakable seances. But
the minute details recorded by the scientists do not inter-
est the casual visitor, intent on the broad picturesqueness
of the public ceremony. While these invisible doings are
in progress underground, other strange things are happen-
ing in the wide desert round about. Each day for seven
days swift, naked runners are sent out to carry bahos, or

prayer-offerings, to distant shrines. The first messenger
speeds on foot around the mesa, describing a circuit of
twenty-five miles ; but each succeeding day the circle
shrinks, until on the last day the runner closely skirts the
town itself, depositing his tokens in the nearby shrines. The
wider circuit is made that the rain-clouds hiding far away
may see and be attracted, and then may be lead nearer and
nearer as the runner shortens his course, until they can hear

282

MOKI LAND

Photograph by Sumner \V. Matt

CONSECRATING "BAHOS" IN THE ANTELOPE KIVA

the prayers of the people in the villages. Hopi men and
bovs are famous for their fleetness. One who was employed

Flash-light photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

SNAKE PRIESTS SLEEPING ON THE KIVA ROOF

MOKI LAND

283

Photograph by Sumner \V. Matteson

SNAKE MEN

by Volz to bring him news
of the priestly proclama-
tion fixing the exact date
of the dance, ran to the
railway at Canon Diablo
and back again to his vil-
lage, a distance of one
hundred and fifty miles,
in twenty-five hours ; all
this in loose ankle-deep

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

RETURNING FROM THE FIRST DAYS HUNT

284

MOKI LAND

. ;'MJ|J| H|^B| " 1

+ •'It*'

.. .. __ . .....

■HHHHHHHi

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

A SHRINE WITH OFFERINGS OF FEATHERS AND BAHOS

sand. It may be said for comparison that the same journey,
including only such stops as were necessary for sleep and
food, cost us four days of horseback travel.

But while the circling messengers are propitiating the
spirits of the shrines, other men set out to seek other mes-

Photograph by Sumner \V. Matteson

SNAKE HUNTERS LEAVING THE KIVA ON THE FIRST DAY'S HUNT, TO THE NORTH

MOKI LAND

287

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

THE SNAKE HUNT TO THE WEST

sengers more pleasing to the greater spirits who control the
hydraulics of the sky. These messengers are snakes ; the

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

THE SNAKE HUNT TO THE EAST

288

MOKI LAND

rattlesnake is called " chief " because it is most efficacious in
bringing rain. For four days snakes are hunted far and
wide, first to the north, then to the west, south, and east.
The men are armed with sticks and hoes, and carry little
bags in which they gently place their wriggling captives.

The reptile-gather-
ers are never fol-
lowed. It would
be injurious to fol-
low, and is an omen
of evil-fortune even

to meet them in the
desert. During their

RED-ROBED WATCHERS

MOKI LAND

289

long forays, the fields are de
serted. The lay population
remains in town, at home
On the eighth day
after the commence-
ment of the ceremo-
nies a sort of public
rehearsal of the
dance is held ; but in
place of snakes the
priests use the melon-
vines and corn-stalks.

SUNRISE
CTATORS

ON THE ROCKY " GRAND STAND "

This is called the Antelope Dance, because the Antelope
Fraternity directs it. Then on the morning of the great
ninth day the village is astir long before the sun has peeped
above the desert rim. The populace robed in brilliant
blankets stand like aboriginal cardinals on the mesa roofs

290

MOKI LAND

and peer eagerly toward the corn-fields,
whence strange cries come now and
then. All eyes are riveted on some-
thing in the lower distance, some-
thing that is moving, for these
intently gazing faces slowly turn
from left to right. At last the
round sun rises and casts over

WATCHING THE RACERS

the desert a light
that looks like pink-
ish dust. And then,
following the eager
glance of this assem-
bled multitude, we
presently distinguish
a dozen figures in
the distance running toward us
The " sunrise race " is on, the
young men are contending for
the honor of being the first
to bring a sacred token from
the fields. The token is a
gourd filled with water. It
is snatched from hand to hand
as the runners overtake one
another. On they come, fleet

ADMONISHING THE
WINNER HOW TO
DEPOSIT HIS PRIZE AIj
A BLESSING TO HIS
FIELD AND CROPS

Photographs by Sumner W. Matteson

A PRIEST REWARDS THE WINNER

MOKI LAND

291

as antelopes in spite of the retarding sands, then up the broken
surface of the trail as if it were a level track, then through the
admiring crowds gathered above, and finally to the door of
the Antelope Kiva where the victor is rewarded by a priest
who recites before him some mysterious words of praise or

compliment, and bestows upon him the gourd which the
victor buries in his own field to ensure its future fertility.

Meantime we have discovered hiding amid the rocks a
numerous company of younger boys fantastically arrayed, or
rather unarrayed. Some, it is true, wear scanty rags, but
most of them wear nothing but a coat of paint applied to
face and arms and body. They carry long green stalks of

292

MOKI LAND

THE RUSH OF THE " CORN LADS

corn and little bells which begin to jingle joyfully when, a
moment later, these lurking corn-lads suddenly pop from the
recesses in the cliff and go clambering skyward, waving their
green banners. Arriving on the level mesa-top they form
in companies and charge toward the village where, massed

SNAKE PRIESTS ENTERING THEIR KIVA

MOKI LAND

293

THE PLAZA OF THE SNAKE DANCE AT WALPI.

upon a mound,
the women and
girls of Oraibi are
eagerly awaiting
their approach.
As soon as the ad-
vancing boys are
near enough for
the girls to see
the whites of their
laughing eyes, a
counter charge is
made ; a phalanx
of femininity
sweeps down up-
on the army of
corn-bearing lads
and there ensues

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

CLOUD, CORN, LIGHTNING, AND RAIN SYMBOLS

294

MOKI LAND

which recalls a cane-rush. The object of the
girls is to wrest the cornstalks from the hands of the troop
of boys and then to take them from one another.

A few hours later the Snake Priests, who have been
chanting weird songs in the kiva of the Antelope Society, file
out from that mysterious council-cave, crossing the plaza, and
disappear through the trap-door of their own kiva, where the

Photograph by Siumner W. Matteson

AFTER THE WASHING

snakes are now in close confinement. Few white men have
ever been permitted to witness the secret rites performed in
these dark kivas. To-day the most impressive of them all
is celebrated — the ceremony of the washing of the snakes.
After these priests have entered let us in imagination follow
them into the dark recesses of that forbidden den.

The privileged observer, to whom we are indebted for the
unique pictures of the kiva ceremonies, reports that after the

MOKI LAND

297

priests, with many impressive ceremonial details and much
weird chanting, had dipped the snakes one by one into a
bowl of charm-liquid, they threw them across the kiva and
brushed them about in the colored sands which had been
used in making a symbolic sand-mosaic upon the altar.
Then the reptiles were put into a large bag in which they are
carried to the public ceremony. The weird horror of the

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

DRYING THE SOUSED SNAKES IN THE SUN

scene, impossible to convey in words, is suggested by the
pictures which successfully reveal several of the dramatic
episodes of this frightful pagan rite.

Above ground in the plaza stands what is called the ' k kisi,
a tent-like structure of cottonwood boughs faced with corn-
stalks. It has been set up by the priests on the eighth day.
In this a man will be concealed with the capture of snakes,

298

MOKI LAND

and from the kisi
he will hand them
to the dancers
one by one at the
required moment.
The plaza is still
practically empty
and remains thus
until the sun has
almost reached
the western edge
of Moki Land.
Then in the fad-
ing light specta-
tors soon gather ;

photographers,

Photograph by H. C. Yroman, Pasac

BUILDING THE KISI

cinematograph

ers, and chronomatographers unlimber their

heavy batteries,
while kodakers
and snap-shoot-
ers maneuver for
a favorable posi-
tion. But the
sun, already low,
will set before its
time ; for in the
west is rising a
dense black bank
of cloud, as if to
foil these impious
intruders, and at
the same time as-
sure the priests of

MOKI LAND

301

the Hopi that the rain-clouds have heard the prayers and are
marshaling their forces to give a thunderous answer to the
final and supreme invocation which the priests are soon to
make. Longer and longer grow the shadows, but before
they merge into the shades of twilight, there comes an ex-
pectant murmur from the crowd, and a moment later the
pagan priesthoods are all in their places and are ready to
begin their solemn and dramatic invocations.

Photograph by H. C. Vrorr.an, Pasadena

THE ANTELOPE PRIESTS

First, nine members of the Antelope Society rise one by
one from out of the earth, and march with rapid measured
strides four times around the plaza. Then, standing in a line
with backs turned to the kisi, they await the advent of their
brothers of the Snake Fraternity. The pause gives us an
opportunity to study their elaborate make-up. A picture

302

MOKI LAND

tells more in an instant than words could tell in half a day.
Embroidered cotton sashes are the most salient features of
their uniform. Long fox-skins hang behind them from the
waist, necklaces and bracelets are seen on necks and arms,
and in their hands they carry little rattles. Upon bare arms
and legs are zigzag marks of pasty clay, symbols of light-
ning ; tied near the knees are rattles made of tortoise shells

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

THE SNAKE PRIESTS

to imitate the sound of thunder, while lines are drawn like
mustaches from ear to ear, and the ears are hid by flowing
tresses. They wear their hair like this "because the rain-
clouds wear their tresses so." The chief priest stands
nearest to us ; at his feet we see a thick feathery wand called
a " '' tiponi*" the badge of his sacred office. The second
priest in line is the asperger, who sprinkles the charm-

MOKI LAND

303

■fl^e a v

• ^LA-$"*4t-

ilf I J

■

1 J 11 [j l

THE TWO PRIESTHOODS BEGINNING THE CHANTS

liquid from a bowl with a bunch of i

eagle-feathers. He is distinguished by the crown of leaves
upon his venerable head. Then come six other priests and
one little novice, admitted this year for the first time to par-
ticipation in the dance. Meantime the Snake Men have
appeared, marched round four times, and taken their position.

THE SNAKE CEREMONY AT ORAIBI

304

MOKI LAND

The wooden board lying on the ground just in front of
the Antelope Men, covers a shallow hole called " sifiaftu,"
the entrance to the underworld. Every time a priest passes
the sipapu he stamps upon it to give assurance to dead

'mm

fc.'4B^5ra

Photograph by Sumner W. Matte

ARNEST PAGAN PIETY

ancestors that the clan is faithfully performing this imme-
morial rite appointed by the fathers in the forgotten past.
And now comes the first movement of the dance itself, — but
the word "dance " conveys a wrong impression. This is a
symbolic ceremony, not a dance. The two fraternities begin
a low peculiar chant, swaying their bodies, waving their
feather wands, pointing them at the ground. The humming
chant is almost wordless ; it represents the sighing of the
winds, the rushing of the storm-clouds, while the accompany-
ing rattles play an obligato as of thunder. There is in it all a
mystery and dignity which cannot be described. The move-
ments may at first appear too grotesque, but they are grimly
so ; the Hopi mystics are never without that dignity peculiar

MOKI LAND

305

to the children of the desert. The costume of the Snake
brothers differs from that of the Antelopes. The kilt is of
brown leather with designs of white. Upon the breasts are
blotches instead of stripes of clay. Each man carries in one
hand a little bag containing sacred corn-meal, in the other a
wand of wood with eagle-feather tips. Before attemping to
pick up a rattlesnake the priest throws a pinch of meal
toward the setting sun, then another upon the coiling snake.
A snake must coil before it can spring and strike; the
secret of safety lies in the skill with which the priest induces

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

THE PRELIMINARY CHANT — ORAIBI

the rattler to uncoil. He tickles it deftly with the eagle-
feather wand, and the snake, knowing by instinct that the
stroke of an eagle's wing always precedes the grip of the
eagle 's fatal claw, quickly uncoils and squirms away in search
of hole or refuge. Once straightened out he may be picked
20

3o6

iMOKI LAND

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

the wriggling snakes
and prevent their es-
cape, after they have
been dropped upon
the ground. Invari-
ably the gatherer first
throws a pinch of
meal toward the sun
and then one upon
the snake, strokes it
with a feathery wand,
and then with a gest-
ure swift as light he
seizes it and adds it
to the wriggling clus-
ter clutched in his left
hand. Meantime the

up with impuni-
ty. As the dance
proceeds, you
will see some of
the priests take
snakes of various
kinds from the
kisi, then, hold-
ing the neck be-
tween the teeth
and the body in
the hands, dance
slowly round and
round, followed
by other priests
whose duty is to aid the carrier
in case of need, and to gather up

GRIPPING THE REP-
TILES WITH TEETH
AND EINGERS

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

BARBARIC
BRAVERY

MOKI LAND

309

Pliotograj

ANTELOPE SAND-PAINTING

other priests are chanting and swaying their dark bodies to and
fro. One by one, the snakes, about sixty in number, many of
them venomous rattlers, are carried round the plaza, dropped
on the ground, and gathered in by watchful following priests.
One of the latter, angered because white visitors have
approached too near the kisi, vents his spite upon a lady
spectator, an artist, who stands near the circling priests, rest-
ing a canvas-covered stretcher on the ground as a sort of
barrier to ward off the crawling snakes which now and tnen

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

ALTAR IN THE ANTELOPE K1VA DURING THE DANCE

3io

MOKI LAND

INVOKING THE

LIGHTNING

Photograph by

Sumner W. Matteson

glide toward the timorous onlookers. The
gatherer resents her fortified attitude,
and each time that he picks up a
snake, he swings it nearer and nearer
to her face in an attempt to frighten
her into retreat. But he tries this
once too often, for a final bold
attempt to twine the reptile round
her neck is met by a counter-
attack. The artist lifts her stout
stretcher, swings it valiantly above
her head as a protection, and brings
it down smack on the head of the
astonished Snake Man !
Meantime, women with baskets of corn-
meal assemble near at hand. A priest draws with the sacred
meal a circle on the ground. Into this circle all the snakes
are hurled, forming a coil-
ing pyramid of horror.
For an instant the dancers
pause, and then on a signal
all rush forward, plunging
their arms into the writh-
ing heap, and seize as
many reptiles as the hand
will hold. The little boy-
priest emerges from the
scramble with four snakes
longer than himself. And
then away dash the fren-
zied bearers with their
garlands of intertangled
serpents, down the steep
trails toward the desert

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

SHOOTING THE "LIGHTNING FRAME"

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

THE FLUTE FRATERNITY AT A SPRING

MOKI LAND

3i3

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

MAKING THUNDER

which has grown dark and somber, for the sun has set. Far
and wide the priests have scattered, lost in the dimness of

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

A FEAST FOR THE FASTERS

314

MOKI LAND

the world below. When half an hour later they return, their
hands are empty, the snakes, messengers sure of a hearing with
the spirits of the underworld, have been set at liberty and are
now bearing the petitions of the people to the rulers of the rains.
The Snake Men strip and bathe at the spring below, enter
their kiva, deposit their ceremonial trappings, and finally in
simple scant attire they gather on the roof of the kiva and
drink huge bowls of nauseous emetic, enduring with stoical

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, I

PURIFICATION!

unconcern the inevitable, immediate result. This "cere-
mony of purification " ended, a feast begins, and the succeed-
ing days are spent in revelry. No accidents have marked
the celebration, apparently so perilous. No dancers have
been bitten by the snakes.

At past performances, however, trustworthy witnesses
have seen the rattlesnakes draw blood from Moki arms, but
never has a death resulted from the bite. Scientific observ-
ers have captured rattlers after their release by the priests,

MOKI LAND

315

and on examination the fangs were found intact, the poison-
sacs well filled with deadly venom. We do not know why
the holy men of Moki Land do not fear the rattlesnake nor
how they render its dreaded fangs innocuous. We hear
vague rumors of a magical concoction, a broth brewed from
the juice of beetles — an antidote more efficacious than the
familiar " bug juice " employed by the white man in similar

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson

A FLUTE CEREMONY AT A SPRING

emergencies. But of this we have no certain knowledge.
The secret of immunity remains a Hopi secret, jealously
guarded by the successive generations of the brotherhoods.
The Snake Dance closes with a glorious sunset built up
by the dark clouds which have assembled to witness all those
strange rites which every year are celebrated in their honor.
And it is an incontrovertible fact that Hopi prayers are
usually far more efficacious in bringing rains than are the

3i6

MOKI LAND

prayers of the average country clergymen. It may be that
the cunning priests know from experience when the rains may
be expected, and time their ceremonies accordingly. Still,
that is no slight achievement, for the date of the Snake
Dance is announced nineteen days in advance.

The line of the desert horizon seen from the Hopi vil-
lages is broken by a series of buttes and mesas sharply
outlined against the sky. The Hopi priests regard that circle
of shapes as the zodiac in their annual calculations. When

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson, Sept. 15, 1901

THE ORAIBI FLUTE ALTAR

EVERYTHING INDICATES COMING RAIN— DUCKS COMING OUT — SWALLOWS FLYING

HOME — LIGHTNINGS— BLOSSOMING EARTH — LINES OF FALLING RAIN

MOKI LAND

319

THE RAIN GO

HEAR AND RESPOND

the sun rises or sets behind a
certain butte or at the
edge of a certain
mesa, then the
observance of a
certain rite is
imperative.
The day fol-
lowing the in-
vocation held
at Oraibiin 1898
there burst over
the villages a terrific
thunder-storm. In the
north heavens were as black
as night, fierce lightnings flashed, and
the rain descended, as if entire lakes had been snatched up

A WORLD-WIDE PASTl'Rl

by the grateful Rain Gods, wrapped in black vapors, and dis-
patched to Moki Land in answer to the prayers of the Good
People. Yet the downpour fell only upon the Moki mesas

320

MOKI LAND

Photograph

and upon the Mold
fields. We were
then several miles
away, en route to
the railway ; no
rain fell where we
stood, halting in
silent wonder at
the spectacle, for
while the north
sky was hidden by
that black curtain
of the storm, the
south sky, toward
which we were re-
treating, was ar-
tistically draped with lace-like clouds upon a background
of pale blue.

Red mesas, a day's journey distant, seemed in the clear
sharp atmosphere within a few miles of our path. Here
and there we came upon a flock of sheep or goats belonging
to the Navajos, for " Lo, the poor
Indian ' ' is not poor in Ari-
zona. The Navajo nation
is immensely rich in cat-
tle, sheep, and horses.
The tribe possesses
one million six hun-
dred thousand sheep,
sixty thousand head
of cattle, three hun-
dred thousand goats,
and so many horses that
no equine census exists.

A NAVAJO BAMBINO

MOKI LAND

321

At Volz's Emporium No. 2, at The Lakes, we find a
multitude of Navajos assembled. The trader is about to give
his annual "treat " to his customers. He has announced a
two-day tournament, offered prizes for contests and races,

. . ** dkA&Jk a

&T*2:^Mi^

iJMxWfhSL^b^ 1

3H^

7.^;

A NAVAJO ROUND-UP AT THE LAKES

and invited the entire blue-book list of Navajo
Land, agreeing to feed the braves, their wives,
and children, for two days. When we arrive,
the guests are already gathered. They come
from far and near ; some families have ridden a
hundred and fifty miles to attend the grandest
social function of the year. The men bring
rifles and lariats, the women blank-
ets and papooses. We make a
rough count of the visitors.
There are about four hundred
of them, a Navajo "four hun-
dred ' ' representing the best blood
21

EARLY ARRIVALS

322

MOKI LAND

and the greatest wealth of an old, heroic, wealthy tribe.
These people are far more hardy than the Molds, more admir-
able in many ways, but far less civilized. The trader arranges
with the chiefs the details of the ceremonies and the contests.
First there will be a grand march, led by Mr. Volz, the host,
and the old Chief, whom all the guests treat with much respect.
Then a pony race with Navajo boys as jockeys, then a foot-
race contested by both Mokis and Navajos, and one Ameri-
can college man. The latter has the advantage at the start,
but when the runners cross a stretch of loose sand, he falls
behind. The barefoot Indians skim over the soft places.
A Moki wins. The colors of Cornell do not get even a place,
the white man being the fourth to cross the line.

** Wir

THE ROOSTER-PLUCKING CONTEST

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

RATTLESNAKE JACK

MOKI LAND

325

Then comes
the Gallo race or
rooster - plucking
contest, one of
the most exciting
sports of the big
southwest.

A live rooster
is buried in the
sand, with its pro-
testing head left
protruding like a
curious animated
plant.

Many savage
cavaliers assem-
ble in the distance
and one by one
they ride furiously
toward us. Then,

Photograph by Sumner W. Matteson
A NAVAJO SILVERSMITH

as they near the red comb of the gallo,
they gracefully swing earthward from
the saddle, making a swift grab
at the protruding neck in an
endeavor to jerk the rooster
from the sand and thus
secure the prize. The
feat is difficult, and of
the forty or fifty riders
only a few even touch
the wriggling bait. In-
numerable grabs are
made, sandy clouds are
raised, horses stumble, the
horsemen almost lose their

THE ORAII

Photograph by Sumner \V Matteson
SNAKE CHIEF

326

MOKI LAND

balance, and still the cock remains untouched. But at last
the screaming bird is gripped by some skilful hand and deftly
disinterred. Then away dashes the successful brave, followed
by a squadron of desperate red men, each one intent on secur-
ing a wing or leg of that unhappy fowl. Ten minutes later the
prize has been torn into a hundred shreds and every bloody-
handed Navajo possesses some gory souvenir of the struggle.

Photograph by H. C. Vroman, Pasadena

A NAVAJO HOGAN

Among the spectators not one is more enthusiastic than
" Rattlesnake Jack, " the bravest and most daring member of
our caravan. "Jack " was a girl from Denver. We called
her " Jack " because she liked the name, and used the pre-
fix, " Rattlesnake, " because she carried in her pocket a
beautiful collection of rattles which she had calmly cut with
a penknife from protesting rattlers' tails. There is many a

RATTLESNAKE JACK PURSUED BY A BAND OF NAVAJOS

MOKI LAND

329

dumb snake wandering unhappily in the great desert, thanks
to the campaign waged by Rattlesnake Jack.

Jack is the heroine of one of the most thrilling motion-
pictures made in Arizona. She is determined to experience
the sensations of one pursued by a band of Indians. She
challenges the braves to catch her, mounts the chief's horse,
and dashes away, followed by a mob of mounted savages.

" AMONG THOSE PRESENT "

They fail to overtake her, and after the race, obediently
follow her, ranging themselves before the camera as she rides
forward and salutes the spectators.

The Navajos are lost in admiration for the daughter of
the pale-face, and her exploits will long be talked of in
the crude desert dwellings or " hogans " of the tribe.
The tournament of '98 will be memorable among them
because of her ; but that of '99 will be more memorable,

33o

MOKI LAND

because in that year the Indians beheld a miracle. The
same white men come again, one year later, bringing strange
instruments and a big white sheet, which they stretch on the
outer wall of Yolz's store. Then, after night has fallen, half
a thousand red men, crouching in the sand, behold upon that
white surface huge pictures in which men seem to live and

& - "* -A

i -SL'^"

i ^

THE GUESTS OF TRADER VOLZ

move. They view the moving multitudes in the streets of
far-off cities ; they see the railway trains that they have
merely heard about ; they see themselves performing deeds
which they know were performed twelve months before.
But what astounds them most is the appearance in life upon
that screen of tribesmen who have died during the intervening

MOKI LAND

DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT

year, or others whom the}/
know are far away. As
each familiar figure
passes, the dumb-
founded spectators
start to utter cries
of consternation,
then clap their
hands over their
mouths and try
to smother the
incipient yells,
so that the ghosts
shall not become
frightened and dis
appear. Strange to
relate, no curiosity at all

AT THE RACES

332

MOKI LAND

is excited by the projecting instrument, but the canvas screen
is minutely examined by the nonplused Navajos who finger
it and rub their cheeks against it, as if to detect some sign of
life or of sorcery in the white fabric.

After the tournament is ended, feasting begins ; then, late
at night, shadowy forms assemble near the store and per-
form weird dances. A hundred Navajos in a circle, elbow
to elbow, move slowly round and round, with a stamping
step, chanting strange songs. We, too, take places in the
ring and become almost hypnotized by the rhythm and the
movement and the ruddy glare of the fire around which we
are circling. All night the dancers sing and circle ; when
we are roused just before sunrise, to prepare for departure,
wild monotonous chanting still comes to us from distant

BEDOUINS OF THE SOUTHWEST

RATTLESNAKE JACK AFTER THE RACE

MOKI LAND

335

4'hogans, " where at least a remnant of the tireless braves
are persisting in their somber all-night revel.

We ride away while the desert is still hid in the purple
shadows, for we have nearly thirty miles to cover in the next
four hours, else we shall miss the eastbound express. We
are not eager to return to civilization ; the charm of the

BACK TOWARD THE WORLD OF CITIES

desert is still upon us ; we have not yet drunk deep enough
of its life-giving air ; we have not yet satisfied our eyes with
looking at the wide horizon. The Painted Desert, stretching
away toward the Grand Canon, spreads out a tempting feast
of space and color. The Painted Desert is the most alluring
desert in the world ; a gorgeous expanse of tinted sands and
rocks and ledges painted by Nature when the earth was young.
But there is no water there, and we dare not venture
westward toward that realm of beauty, thirst, and death.

336

MOKI LAND

Therefore we set our faces toward the south, toward the
railway and the world of cities ; and as we ride, the magic
colors fade away from earth and sky, save for a faint tinge
of yellow that lingers overhead, a last reflection of the sandy
world which we are leaving with regrej.

The fascination of the desert, the charm of the. flat places
of the earth cannot be explained. It must be felt. If you
would know one of the most wholesome joys of life,**go buy
a saddle and a bridle, a bronco, and a blanket, and forgetting
all the petty things of life ride away into this Sahara of our
glorious southwest, and there find the true meaning of such
words as space — exhilaration — freedom !

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